Le Beaute et L'ange
by angelofnight
Summary: After Christine's kiss, Erik undergoes a peculiar change, and now must learn to live as a man instead of the monster society percieved him to be. (Repost of old story "Beaute Et L'Ange)
1. Default Chapter

A/N All right, here we go. the usual disclaimers. The characters belong to Gaston Leroux, not me. (Sobs) I wish they did! Although I'll admit I am taking this from the ending of the ALW version (who doesn't? It's one of the only good versions where Erik is believed to have survived).  
  
All right I was just watching Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast', and came up with this idea. although not totally original I'll admit. You see everyone has been coming up with these parodies/crossovers/put-the-characters- through-a-different-story plots. and the idea of how the plot is actually going to go was rooted from a fan fiction for 'Beauty and the Beast' the TV series. So without further ado. here is my story (And no I don't know where it's going to go or how long it's going to be. I'm just going with the inspiration.) As always, reviews are welcomed.  
  
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Beauté Et L'Ange  
  
Erik lay in Christine's room, listening as the mob ransacked his home just outside the hidden doorway. He could hear his beloved music being torn. could hear everything he'd grown to love and count on being destroyed. At one time, he even heard his precious Aeysha give out a yowl of protest or pain. Perhaps one of them had only stepped on her tail. He certainly hoped so. If they hurt her, there would be a great deal of Hell to pay.  
  
Yet there wasn't really time to think about what was happening outside. Once Christine had kissed him, all the breath had left him, and even now he found it hard to continue taking in air, and expelling it through sheer will alone. All the strength had left him at the one moment of affection he'd been granted his entire life. A kiss that had pulled him from the very depths of sanity. only to deposit him back on earth to be alone once more. He didn't know for certain what had hurt worse. To have known a kiss at long last. or to have had to let Christine go away with that boy, whom he now knew she would never stop loving.  
  
*Why is it so hard to breathe?* He asked himself. He didn't know. All he knew was that something had begun in his body the moment she'd kissed him. At first, it had only been a loss of breath. Yet he'd assumed at the time it had something to do with his initial shock, which even now hadn't worn off. Then, he'd assumed it was the pain of losing her to that spoiled, rotten Vicomte. Yet the tingling running through his body. as though his bloodstream was filled with grains of sand. had not stopped. Eventually, his face had begun to hurt, and he now had a whopping headache. Nothing seemed to get rid of it. not even concentrating on something else. Of course, when he could only lay there and hope that this strange discomfort did not draw the attention of those outside, there was little else to concentrate on.  
  
Hours passed, and the mob was slowly leaving the lair. Outside, he could hear Meg Giry talking anxiously to her mother, whom apparently had finally joined the rest of the furious crowd. The older woman was chiding her daughter angrily for disobeying her and coming down here. Yet Meg kept saying it didn't seem to matter. There was no one there. and no one had any guesses as to where either Christine, Raoul, or the Phantom himself had gone.  
  
'Look, Maman! I found the Phantom's mask!' Meg was very easy to hear, even through the walls. She had such a . distinct voice. 'You don't think he would leave without it, do you? He wouldn't have, surely!'  
  
'Hush, child.' Madame Giry scolded again. By now, it seemed they were alone in his home. 'The Opera Ghost will come back for it if he is still alive. Leave it on the chair. we must go immediately.'  
  
There was another half hour of silence before he dared to move from the bed where he'd collapsed. His thoughts had been forced to wander as he lay there, simply to keep his mind off of the strange sensations. He'd thought a great deal about his mother, whose possessions surrounded him at that very moment. His mother, whom had lain dead in the very bed he now lay on. He remembered the night he'd gone to find her dead, and sighed, shaking his head. Slowly, a hand rose up to wipe at the sweat of exhaustion from hise forehead, and found himself wiping away long, fine hair.  
  
*Wait a moment.* He thought to himself in shock. *I took my wig off, I'm sure of it. Christine tore it off on stage.*  
  
Slowly sitting up, he concentrated again on breathing, and was relieved to find it much easier now. The unusual feeling was leaving, at long last. He'd wondered if it would stick around forever, or perhaps killed him. Yet he felt no pain. no dizziness as he forced himself towards Christine's vanity, where a mirror stared out into the dark room. With shaking hands, he struck a match, and brought it to the wick of the lamps on either side of the mirror. For a long moment, he didn't look into it. he didn't dare. He hated the sight of his face in the mirror. Despised it. yet look in the mirror he must.  
  
He did not think that the man in the mirror was him. Quickly, he turned, hands coming up in fists to defend himself if necessary. But of course, there was no one else in the room. No one could get into it, except for Christine. But she was gone with Raoul. She wouldn't be in the room, and that most certainly had not been her reflection in the mirror. Very slowly, he dared to turn back around, and face the amber-hued eyes in the smooth, glowing face before him. Not glowing, he realized. but healthy, just as the Vicomte's skin was. Smooth, and rich with color and life. The cheeks were thin, and the forehead small. The chin went down into a somewhat wider curve, not quite squared as the ideal mans' chin might be. but definately masculine. Vaguely bushy eyebrows of auburn brought expression to the shocked and frightened eyes in the mirror. and matching hair. long, luxurious, and slightly curly. fell down over his shoulders. This was absolutely nothing like the face he'd known for fifty years. This face didn't even look old!  
  
'Impossible!' He breathed, reaching up to touch the cool glass surface of the mirror. Yet the hand itself was not his as well. Surely enough, the man in the mirror was wearing his own clothes. but this simply could not be him. Swallowing thickly, Erik dared to lower his eyes to his real hand. The fingers were just as long as they had been. but with the correct amount of flesh on it. it seemed like a perfect, naturally sized hand, with perfectly manicured fingernails. They were the hands of a musician. Slowly, his eyes lowered further, and he realized that his frame was just a bit wider, a bit stronger looking. There seemed to be the right amount of muscle on him, the right amount of flesh that was not stretched tight over his form, but thick like the skin of an adolescent.  
  
'Not possible.' He insisted to himself again. 'Not. possible.'  
  
Turning, he shook his head to collapse on the bed. He was not prepaired to accept this. He was ready to go to sleep now. When he awoke, there would again be need for his mask. The idea made him shudder, but what he'd just seen in the mirror could not have been possible. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, and slowly passed out, while the flames by the mirror died down.  
  
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'Raoul, please forgive me.' Christine pleaded. She sat across from her fiancee as they attended breakfast at a modest hotel several miles outside of Paris. She reached across the table to take Raoul's hand gently in her own, watching him with pleading eyes. 'I have to go back and see what is left. The papers say that the Opera Ghost was not found last night. and everyone is still thinking that you and I are dead! Surely you cannot object to setting everyone at ease about our wellfare!'  
  
'Christine, I will not have you go back to that terrible place.' Raoul objected sternly, squeezing her fingertips insistently. He had barely gotten any sleep the night before. The things he'd experienced in the Phantom's lair simply refused to let him rest. They kept running through his mind, making him feel so many emotions at once. Fright, anger, compassion, jealousy, and finally relief. All of that was over, but she wanted to go back and see if the creature was still alive!?  
  
*Not the creature.* He scolded his mind, for Christine's sake alone. He knew how much compassion she'd felt towards him in the end. That had been why she'd kissed him. That was why she wanted to know how he was now. The man who had given her a voice like that of an angel. No, he couldn't say that he entirely blamed her for wanting to check up on her mentor. although the idea still repulsed him. *Erik.*  
  
'What if he isn't dead, Christine?' He asked, rightfully concerned. 'What if he thinks you've gone back to stay with him? Have you considered the possibility that he may not let you go ever again?'  
  
'I've considered that after how I betrayed his trust, that perhaps he may not want me there at all.' She replied softly. 'Raoul. please. for my sake. Let us go back there today. I have to tell Meg and Madame Giry that we're all right. I have to see if Erik is still alive. At least so that I might put my conciece at rest.'  
  
Raoul sighed heavily, taking a long sip of hot coffee that almost scalded his throat.  
  
'This afternoon.' He agreed finally. 'But if he is alive, Christine, you must swear to me that I might go with you, and bring my pistol. If he ever tried to take you again.'  
  
'He won't, my dear.' Christine promised gently. 'You may bring it. but do not draw it. He'll kill you if he is alive. Just seeing it might send him into a horrible rage. I don't want him thinking I've come back for you to kill him.'  
  
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Erik opened his eyes warily, knowing instinctively that it was late into the day. He wondered how long he'd been sleeping. The mob had come and gone, and he'd passed out on the bed. At the moment, he didn't recall seeing the strange reflection in the mirror. His mind was determind to keep the episode out of mind entirely. Yet something had awakened him, hadn't it? With a groan, he forced himself to sit up on his mothers' mattress, and rubbed at his eyes. They felt odd to him, but he didn't think about it. No doubt sleeping with his face buried in the pillow all night and day had made his skin puffy. as sometimes eyes would become swollen after being put through such abuse.  
  
Whatever had awakened him, Erik was quite certain it had to have been Aeysha in the next room. Yes, after a moment he was posotive of it. He could hear the cat mewling out in the drawing room, and he stood. She was hungry, no doubt, and wanted to be let outside to hunt for her mice. Shuffling over to the seceret door of Christine's room, he stepped outside, and was immediately greeted by his siamese cat rubbing up against his leg affectionately, and he leaned down to pick her up.  
  
'All right, my precious.' He began softly, stroking her head. 'All right, let's get you something to -'  
  
The cat abruptly narrowed her eyes at him, and let out a low, menacing growl. Erik froze temporarily, pulling his face away from her. He wondered what had gotten into her so suddenly, and tried to rub his finger under her chin soothingly. But Aeysha would have none of it, and she hissed, spitting angrily. Her teeth sank into his finger, as one claw swiped across the back of his wrist.  
  
'Merde!' He swore angrily, dropping the cat so that she landed gracefully on her feet, and began to arch her back, hairs standing up on end as she continued hissing at him and spitting. 'Aeysha! What has gotten into you?'  
  
There was a sound across the room, and he lifted his head abruptly, growing still. Yet Aeysha still hadn't stopped throwing her little tantrum. even though at the sound of his voice she'd calmed down just a tiny bit. Erik listened very carefully, as the door to the room, which lead out onto the lake, nudged open a bit.  
  
'I think he's in here, I think I heard him.'  
  
Erik's heart leaped into his chest, and he took in a sharp breathe, holding it for another moment. It was Christine, but she was not alone. He heard another voice speaking with her in a low and insistent voice. Erik narrowed his eyes angrily.  
  
'No, Raoul, I have to see for myself. Stay out here. If I need you, I'll call. It is best you stay out here. God knows what he'd do if you went into his home again.'  
  
The door opened, and Erik simply stood there as Christine walked into the room. Her hair was pulled back into a pony-tail, and she wore a simple dark blue dress, her eyes shining the exact same color. Of course, the fire in his hearth had gone out many hours ago. Yet Erik could see quite well with his eyes. Very well indeed. It also helped that Christine had a lantern held up in front of her, the light illuminating her face, and most of the room. Her eyes looked about quickly, and then widened when she saw him.  
  
'Oh, Mon Dieu!' She cried, surprised. 'Who are you, Monsieur? What are you doing down here?'  
  
*She's gone mad.* Erik thought dully. *Why can't she see who I am without my mask?*  
  
'Who else would it be, Christine?' He asked her in a soft, tender voice. 'What are you doing back here? Why is that - Why is Raoul with you?'  
  
Christine gasped, and the lantern fell to the ground, exploding before the light in the room died.  
  
'Erik????' 


	2. Into the Daylight

N/A Thank you for your kind reviews, although personally I don't believe the idea is quite so original. I think even perhaps most of my SUMMARY came from my B&B inspiration!!  
  
For future reference, Génie (will be seen in this chapter, and future chapters) means 'Genius' in French.  
  
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Beaute Et L'Ange Chapter two Into the Daylight  
  
"Erik!"  
  
For a moment, he thought the carpet, which like everything else in the room had been torn and thrown into a messy pile on the floor, would ignite in flames when Christine dropped the lantern. The glass to the small contraption exploded, and there was a flash of light that hurt his eyes a little, after being in such dim light for so many hours. Yet then, there was a blissful darkness. The door behind Christine was knocked open, and there was Raoul. He had also been holding a lantern, Erik noted, but it was now by the door frame on the floor. Raoul's hands were otherwise occupied aiming a small pistol. Erik shrank back quickly into the shadows, so as not to be a right target for the bullet. Oh, he might have been miserable since the night before, but he certainly wasn't going to die by the boys hand. He'd survived too much to die by such a trivial thing.  
  
"I implore you, Monsieur, put away that toy!" He spat. "You're going to get someone seriously hurt over nothing!" He drew his cloak up about him tightly, and watched as the man slowly, cautiously, lowered his pistol and holstered it under his waistcoat. "Thank you."  
  
"Erik?" Christine looked around in confusion, trying to see into the shadows that were considerably thicker than before. The lantern that Raoul had set onto the floor outside the door was at a dimmer setting than the other one had been. It was also further away, so did not light up so much of the room. "Where on Earth are you?"  
  
"I'm right here, ma Cherie." He replied coolly, even more confused than her exclamation had been earlier. "I do hope that one day in the sunlight hasn't made you blind. I'm standing right in front of you."  
  
"Are you?" She whispered, turning to look at him finally. Raoul was also looking utterly confused by this point, as he stepped up to Christine's side, and watched him with intent eyes. Then, Christine's hand slowly went up to cover her mouth, as though she'd just received an immense shock. "Oh. Erik! What happened to you?"  
  
*She's never seen me disheveled.* He thought to himself, almost chuckling at the idea. He decided, however, to humor her.  
  
"What is the matter, Christine?" He asked. "Have you forgotten what I look like so soon? I never thought that would happen."  
  
"But Erik. you look."  
  
Sighing, he watched as she abruptly came forward. He tried to flinch away at first, when she reached out to take his arm. Yet she was insistent, and he allowed his elbow to be pulled away from his side, so that the front of his cloak unfurled, and she took his hand insistently. Quickly, she pulled it up in front of his face, and then everyone simply froze.  
  
It was the hand he had seen the night before in the reflection. He'd thought it had only been some sweet dream. Raising his eyes nervously to Christine, he swallowed thickly.  
  
"How. How is this possible?" He whispered to her. Oh, how foolish that was. A genius was asking a young girl what had happened.  
  
Shaking, he turned, and forced his jelly-like legs into the concealed bedroom again, leaving the door open so that Raoul would not think he was attempting to escape or trick them. He made his way around his mothers' bed, over to the vanity, and then again lit the lamps on either side of the mirror. He didn't look at his reflection immediately, but continued lighting all the candles and lamps in the room, staring at the perfect young hands before him.  
  
"What is going on?" Raoul asked defensively from the other room. He was following her to the door of the bedroom, but did not venture further inward. "Christine, who is that man?"  
  
"I . I think it's Erik." She whispered. "Raoul. he's not only alive. but . look at him!"  
  
"All I see is a man a few years older than myself." The Vicomte stated primly. "Is there some reason that I'm supposed to be impressed?"  
  
"You don't understand." Christine insisted, and then decided he simply never would. Sighing, she shook her head, and waved him back into the drawing room. Reluctantly, he moved back towards the door to retrieve his lantern. Meanwhile, Christine had walked into the bedroom, and was watching as Erik finally gazed at his own reflection. His eyes were wide in both fear and amazement.  
  
"I'm." He glanced at Christine in the reflection, then looked back to himself again. Slowly, both hands rose to inspect the face he looked at. He had to know that his skin was indeed normal, just as his hands were. Not just by looks, but by touch. Sure enough, there were those fine young cheeks, which looked as though they had just barely finished getting rid of the cherub-like look of youth. His hands again moved to his long, somewhat curly auburn hair, and combed through the clean but slightly mussed and knotted strands.  
  
"You're beautiful." She finally breathed, finishing for him, reaching up to grasp his right bicep with a clinging hand. Erik flinched, and almost pulled away. But he wouldn't ask her to take her hand away when he'd so seldom felt it before. Why on Earth should he be afraid of her touching him now? When there was little harm she could bring to him? "Well. for lack of a better word, at least. Erik - when did this happen??"  
  
He sighed, backing away from the mirror, and sitting heavily down onto the edge of the bed. Christine crouched in front of him, taking his hands, and looking up to attempt meeting his fine amber-hued eyes. He finally looked at her, and he was breathing a bit heavily. Yet he was in shock. They all were.  
  
"I . It was after you kissed me." He whispered. "I felt strange. as though there was something other than blood. something grainier. running through my veins. Then I felt this headache, and my face hurt . as though the tears I'd shed were stinging it. I didn't think it was anything except for shock. from that kiss."  
  
Christine brought her hand up to her mouth again, staring at him in total wonder. Then, she reached up to lightly touch his cheek, and he did not stop her. He simply covered her hand with his own. When she smiled up at him so tenderly, just as she always had when they were not tense with one another for some reason or other, he could not help but smile back. Again, like the night before, tears stung at his eyes, but he blinked them back. He began to laugh softly, yet they came out as near sobs.  
  
"Whatever it is. you are free of this place now." She told him gently, standing up to wrap him in her arms, and stroke his hair as she held his cheek against her breast. Erik closed his eyes, savoring everything. overwhelmed with it all. "You said last night you were bound here, chained here, because of how you looked. You don't have to stay here anymore in these ghastly shadows!"  
  
She was right. Why should he stay down here now? Oh, it was his home, and a find house that he'd built himself. For that reason alone, he felt he probably would never leave it completely. Yet he could now go above in the daylight. He might wander around, attend the opera without being rejected. He might even audition for the opera! Oh, what would that be like? To finally be able to sing in the Opera without having to make demands, and without having to feel that fear of rejection. Surely they wouldn't refuse a voice like his. He knew exactly how powerful and sublime it was.  
  
"Christine. why did you come back?" He finally drew away from her, and his eyes stared up at her. All right, so he was finally a handsome young man, ready to take on the world just as he'd always deserved. He could find and honest job where he could do whatever he so wished without being watched under a microscope. She blushed as he looked at her so steadily now.  
  
"I didn't know if you were alive or dead." She said quietly. "The papers said nothing about you. Except for what happened up in the Opera House. and that Raoul and I had disappeared. I wanted to know that you were alive. and Raoul finally agreed that we could come see what was left. Somehow I never expected you to be here, so I thought him coming would be safe."  
  
"And it is safe." Erik said in a low promise. "Christine, I could have killed him last night had I wished to. But I did not, and so you have nothing to fear of me hurting him now. Especially now. he doesn't even know who I am."  
  
She laughed at that, knowing how ridiculous it was. Yet Raoul was a man of reason, just as Erik had once been. What had happened since they left the lair had not happened to him, so he was not going to believe it if he lived to be one-hundred. Yet Christine was the dreamer, and she had always fantasized about such things. if not Erik's face changing into that of a handsome man being one of her fantasies in particular. Taking his hands again, she squeezed them, and Erik kissed her fingertips quickly.  
  
"Stay with me now." He whispered pleadingly. "Will you stay with me now that I am handsome?" He knew it was quite fruitless to ask her. She was totally in love with Raoul, although he still couldn't figure out why. Then again, it was probably because Raoul had been his competition that he didn't see the man for his full potential.  
  
Then again, maybe Raoul really was just a young man whose head was thicker than stone.  
  
"You know I can't do that, Erik." She sighed quietly, sadly. "I love Raoul. And I love you. please believe that. You are my angel. and you are my friend. But I do not think I might ever be able to love you as I do Raoul."  
  
Resigned, for once feeling no desire to tear the man to pieces, Erik nodded, and then finally stood.  
  
"Let me escort you both above." He said finally, his voice formal. "I would like to see what Paris is like in the afternoon sunlight."  
  
"Oh, you might be mildly disappointed." Christine laughed. They were finally finding a way to be at ease as their shock wore off. "There are a great many clouds in the sky today. although the sun does still peek out from behind them every few minutes. I think it's going to rain tonight."  
  
"Does it matter?" Erik smiled, touching her cheek softly. He leaned down, hesitating uncertainly, and as if she knew what he had planned, Christine tilted her cheek towards him. Smiling again, he leaned down to give her a brief kiss, and then they started from the room.  
  
"Oh, Erik! What should I call you in front of Raoul?" She asked nervously. "He knows your true name because I told him about you last night after we left."  
  
"We mustn't confuse him, I suppose." Erik was certain she would scowl at him for mocking her fiancée, but she only kept on smiling up at him. She was happy for him. "Continue to call me Erik. Surely there can be more than one man under the Opera House roof by that name."  
  
"All right." She laughed quietly. "You know, if I can convince Raoul that you've gone, maybe he'll let me stay at the Opera so that I might continue to sing."  
  
Erik nodded.  
  
"And not alone either." He stated.  
  
He moved swiftly from the room after that, and she stared after him curiously, wondering what he might have possibly meant by that. Then, shrugging, she made her way out into the drawing room where Raoul waited at the door between the drawing room and lake. He watched them come out quietly.  
  
"He's." Christine told him quietly. "His body is in the bedroom. This man, Erik. Génie . found him here last night. I suppose he was still alive, so Monsieur Génie stayed with him until he died."  
  
"He died thinking of Mademoiselle Daaé." Erik agreed softly, surprised at how quickly she'd come up with such a story. Raoul relaxed, having not recognized the voice of the man whom had nearly killed him the night before, and shook his hand formally. "It's . a pleasure. "  
  
"Mine as well." Raoul agreed, sounding pleased about something. No doubt he was pleased with the fact that the Opera Ghost was finally dead. That made Erik a bit angry, but he couldn't help but smirk, knowing that this secret would always be between Christine and himself. Not even Nadir would ever know. Nadir, after all, would never believe it either. 


	3. A Child Will Show the Way

N/A - All right, the format between my word processor and the fan fiction site have been fighting. My ellipses (Three periods in a row) keep turning into 1 period. So if you see a . and then a lower case letter starts the next word, it's supposed to be an ellipse. I'll try and put multiple .'s from now on so maybe then they will come up, but it might not work. As for the last chapter, I don't know how the word Dead disappeared from Christine's dialogue when she told Raoul that Erik was dead.  
  
Also, my word processor keeps changing to strange quotation marks. So if I go from regular quotations to single quotations, than I'm sorry.  
  
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Chapter Three: A Child Will Show the Way  
  
Once they emerged into the light of day from the gates of the Rue Scribe, Erik quickly said good-bye to Christine and Raoul, bowing formally, and daring to brush the back of his hand affectionately against Christine's. He wouldn't do more in front of Raoul. After all, the Vicomte had no idea who he was, and knew he might think Erik was making advances on his fiancée. However much he might want to do that, Erik would refrain from doing so. Something had happened to him once the change had taken place over his physical body. He'd lost his anger towards his dreadful situation of unrequited love. He wanted to do his best to accept Christine's choice. After all, that might keep her in his life, at least as his friend.  
  
"Adieu, ma Cherie Mademoiselle." He offered in a quiet voice "Do you think I will see you at the Opera?" He watched her hopefully, not even looking to Raoul. Christine didn't look at him either.  
  
"Of course, Monsieur Génie." She replied almost immediately. "I will be returning. After all. there would be no reason to fear going back." There was a moment of hesitation. "Will you be auditioning for a spot higher than the chorus? They will no doubt be looking for a replacement for Piangi."  
  
Raoul was looking at Christine with obvious displeasure that she should make such a decision without him. Yet she was still only his fiancée. She could not be told what to or not to do by him. And he knew that even once they were married, he would be unable to keep her from singing at the Opera if that was what she wanted to do. He loved her too much to steal her away from that happiness. Yet he had to admit he felt jealous over the real love of her life, the music that had drawn her and the Opera Ghost together.  
  
"I am not certain, Mademoiselle." Erik replied after a thoughtful moment. "I have only recently joined the company, so I do not think they would want me to join. Still, if you suggest I will, then I will most certainly take it into consideration."  
  
"I do suggest it." Christine smiled up at him laughingly. "I will be auditioning to be the lead soprano. Carlotta is not going to be in the company anymore. The papers say that she is too frightened of the Opera, and too grief-stricken by Piangi's death to continue working there."  
  
"Ah, so we can finally hear a voice with talent!" Everyone laughed like that, even Raoul. He had to agree that Carlotta's voice certainly had left something to be desired. He might not have known much about music, but he knew that Carlotta's voice had been old talent a long time ago. "Well, I must be going. Adieu!"  
  
Erik turned quickly, unable to walk down the street, sweeping his cloak back so that it did not cling to him like a shadow any longer. His frame was thin, although not so painfully thin as it had been at one time. He was still tall, although no one seemed to take second glances at him anymore. That was odd. He would have thought his height alone would have drawn shocked glances towards him. Yet no one look at him for such a reason. Still, he did manage to see at least three women tack second glances up at his face, blushing when they caught his eye. He laughed to himself, totally unable to believe what sensations he felt when they looked at him, appreciating the youthful beauty of his frame.  
  
"Monsieur, would you like a flower?"  
  
He was stopped abruptly by the small voice to his right. Turning, he saw a child standing on the sidewalk in a presentable, but old dress that was two sizes too small for her. The hem of the skirt was frayed, and there were several stains on it. Still, it was in very good condition. The black haired little beauty was holding up a half-withered carnation up to him. Under her right arm, there was a basket full of such flowers, some in better condition than the one she now held. Her feet were bare, and he knew she hadn't eaten in some time.  
  
"How many do you have in your family, ma petite?" he asked gently, moving over to crouch in front of her. Large green eyes widened as he came so close, but she didn't seem necessarily afraid. Perhaps apprehensive. yet she was probably used to people walking far around her. She was only a street waif, but certainly a pretty one.  
  
"My mother and baby brother and sister, Monsieur." She replied in a sweet, gracious little voice. "My mother works at the Tavern de la Lune, and my brother and sister stay with the our landlady and her children. »  
  
"Ah, I see." He replied, smiling softly, and reaching out to lightly touch her hair. This was amazing, when she did not shrink away from him because of him wearing a mask. or because of him not wearing a mask over a deformed face. She simply stared up at him as though he were some beautiful apparition. Another girl who believed in angels, he supposed, chuckling to himself. "Tell me, Cherie. what do you usually have for supper at home?"  
  
"Sometimes we have a bit of broth that the butcher gives us from the chicken he's boiled over the day." The child replied shyly, blushing and lowering her eyes finally, realizing he was simply staring at her, as she'd been staring at him. "Last night we had some bread and butter, and we were lucky enough to have some beans."  
  
Erik sighed. How wretched when the poor must live in the conditions that they did. This child was one of the lucky ones. In another year or two, she'd be attending a school, if her luck held out the way it was doing now. He thought about her little siblings, and her poor mother. She was probably only a serving wench at the tavern where she worked, but he could never be sure. Maybe she was forced to sell herself so that their family could have such luck.  
  
"Is your Papa in Heaven?" He asked her tenderly. When she nodded, closing her eyes, he touched her cheek gently. "Hush, Cherie. It's all right. Here." Reaching into his pocket, he suddenly realized that he had no money with him. "Oh . will you be here in another half an hour or hour? I'm afraid I forgot my money. at my home. But I will come back and buy several of your beautiful flowers."  
  
Her face brightened when she looked up at him. Erik suspected that she'd probably been unable to sell more than two or three flowers a day.  
  
"They are two centime, Monsieur." She said meekly. "I know it seems like a lot."  
  
"For such beauty, two centime is a very tiny price." Erik interrupted soothingly. "Tell you what. would you like to walk with me? We can just go up the street, and you can wait for me on that corner while I go to my home to get my money?"  
  
The little girl looked up the street to where he motioned uncertainly. She knew the dangers of strangers, especially men. The conditions she lived in had forced her to be aware of the dangers at such a young age. Erik understood that perfectly, and smiled again.  
  
"You don't have to come." He promised. "You can wait right here if you wish."  
  
"Oui, Monsieur." She whispered softly. Erik nodded, and stood, watching as she stepped back in shock at his sudden height. Of course, all adults must have seemed to tower over her.  
  
"What is your name, ma petite?"  
  
"Marguerite, Monsieur."  
  
"My name is Erik, ma petite Mademoiselle Marguerite. I think you have a beautiful name." Reaching down, he ruffled her hair gently, and the little lady giggled. She couldn't have been more than eight, he thought to himself sadly. What a pity that she had to sell withering, discarded flowers in order to help her mother raise their family. "Wait here, all right? I promise to come back and buy some flowers from you."  
  
Marguerite nodded eagerly, and Erik turned to walk back towards his home, again liking the feel of the sun on his face and hair. He could smell his hair as the sunlight heated it up. Even with a sky so full of clouds, it was immensely bright out, and surprisingly warm. While he made his way into his destroyed home, he glanced to Aeysha as she sat curled in his chair by the fireplace, glaring at him, and growling threateningly. Looking down, he remembered the wounds on the back of his hand, and on his finger. She'd bitten and scratched hard, but the bleeding had long since stopped. As a secondary thought, he moved into the kitchen to wash off his hand, making it more presentable and less frightening with just a few scabs on it.  
  
Then, he went into his room and found the hidden sliding panel in the wall which no one had managed to find during the ransacking. Inside were his treasures. most of them jewels he'd stolen from Persia while he lived there. Other than that, he had a few heavy coin purses that he'd never thought to take out and spend. It always helped, after all, to keep some money tucked away in case of disaster. like the one that had occurred the night before. He tucked one of the purses away under his cloak, and then turned to make his way back to the little girl.  
  
"A flower, Monsieur? Would you like a flower?"  
  
He stopped a few yards away as the crowd went by him. Marguerite was trying to gain the attention of an older man walking by with a cane. Erik figured that the cane was only for show, as it was made out of glass with a gold handle, and he walked with it hooked over his bent arm, instead of using it to support his weight. When Marguerite took a step just in his way, the man glowered at her angrily, and lifted his cane so that the gold handle was aimed down at her.  
  
"Out of the way, you little wretch!" The man boomed in an unpleasant, mean voice. Grinding his teeth together, Erik shot forward through the crowd, pushing Marguerite out of the way by one shoulder, and grabbing the mans wrist in a painful grip with his other hand. The man grimaced at the tight pain that made his bones rub together.  
  
"Leave the child alone, you old bastard!" Erik spat into the mans face, almost literally. He was almost as furious as his cat had been at him earlier that day. "She was only offering to sell you a little flower!" He tossed the man aside, and then forgot about him entirely as he turned to look at the little girl.  
  
She stood now behind a lamp post, cowering there slightly, with her basket of flowers fallen to the sidewalk, and the tender blooms being crushed under the crowd of people that passed by without even glancing at them. He realized that she must have dropped the basket when he pushed her out of harms way. Tears stood in her eyes, both of gratitude and horror.  
  
"It's all right, Marguerite." He soothed to her gently, holding a hand out for her. "Here. I'm sorry about your pretty flowers. Let's pick them up, and I'll pay for all of them. I promise."  
  
Slowly, she edged her way over to him, and he began to help her pick up the crushed blossoms. There were only two or three left hole, and Erik picked one up to put it in the pocket of his overcoat, sweeping his cloak so that it hung back behind his shoulder. Marguerite smiled at this dashing little action, and blushed again. There were thirteen flowers, including the ones that had remained whole.  
  
"That's twenty-six centime, isn't it, ma Cherie?" He asked quietly, handing her the basket now filled with ruined blossoms. Reaching into his cloak, he discreetly pulled out in heavy leather coin purse, and counted out the necessary amount of money. Amazing that so many flowers might be sold at such a cheap price.  
  
"Thank you, Monsieur Erik." She said in a quiet, shy voice as she quickly pocketed away the money, glancing about herself nervously.  
  
"Oh. I think you should have an escort back home, so that no one will try and take that money from you." Erik knew that there were probably half a dozen wretches watching this scene from the shadows somewhere, knowing just how much money the little girl had been given. He knew what wretched souls would steal from a child just to suit their own wants. "Would you mind walking to your home with me? You can put the money away, and we'll even stop to buy your Mama something special. anything you want to get for her."  
  
"Mama said I should not take things from strangers." She protested, although he could see the gratefulness in her eyes. "Please, I would like it very much if you would walk with me. I think Mama will like you."  
  
Erik chuckled at that. Such innocence in those pretty little green eyes! He wondered if her mother looked like the adult version of the child, or if Marguerite took more after her deceased father. Slowly standing, he offered her his hand, and Marguerite took it shyly, not looking him in the eyes when she did so. He almost laughed outright at that, thinking about what a little flirt she was already. She probably got it from the prostitutes that undoubtedly stalked the streets around her home. Yet this was perfectly innocent coyness. He thought it quite charming in the child.  
  
They walked together several blocks, into the worse part of town, where Erik again closed his cloak around his clothes so one could not see what fine quality they were made of. It wouldn't do for someone to try and rob him with the child nearby. He thought that being forced to kill anyone with her so close would frighten her away. Soon, they came up to a building that seemed to have several small apartments, and Marguerite led him to the third story, knocking on the door four times before opening it and stepping in.  
  
"Mama?" Erik waited outside momentarily for the child to find her mother, and then heard some soft whispering.  
  
"Marguerite. I was wondering where you were." The voice sounded so tired, but sweet and low. Erik thought that if she was even half as pretty as that low voice, then she would still be a remarkably beautiful woman. Of course, he had no doubt that the poverty she lived in had affected that beauty early in her life. "Child! Where did you get all this? What happened to the flowers?"  
  
"An old man was going to knock me over with his cane, and Monsieur bought all the flowers from me." The child's reply seemed so strange. So simply put. Surely her mother would be confused.  
  
"What Monsieur would that be?" Her mother sounded quite cultured for someone who was poor. Maybe she'd been wealthier at another time of her life. He supposed he might find that out eventually.  
  
"He walked me home. He's outside."  
  
There was shuffling from inside the apartment, and the door slowly opened to reveal a woman surprisingly young. perhaps in her late twenties to early thirties. She had long, dark brown hair, almost black but not quite, and eyes that looked a great deal like her daughters. She wore a simple white shift that made Erik avert his eyes quickly, modestly. Dear Lord, he didn't need to see a woman in her night clothes!  
  
"Good day, Monsieur." The woman said quietly, and Erik finally looked to her again.  
  
"Good afternoon, Madame." He bowed formally, giving her a disarming smile. "My name is Erik Génie, and I met your little girl selling flowers in the street. She is really quite charming. "  
  
"Thank you, Monsieur." The woman replied. "My name is Madeline. You've been very kind to buy those dirty flowers from my daughter. Might I invite you in for something to drink? I have a bit of milk, and some tea. but not very much."  
  
"Thank you so much, but I don't need anything." Erik reached into his purse again, pulling out some 1513 Francs, and pushing them into the womans' hand. "Here. please. take this. I isnist! I'll come back in a week to see how you and Marguerite is doing.. How old is your son?"  
  
"He's four, Monsieur. Their father died two years ago. It was Cholera." Madeline looked down at the amount of money spilling out of her hands in shock. "Monsieur! I can't possibly-"  
  
"You can, and you will." Erik interrupted insistently. Looking down, he saw Marguerite looking at him from around her mothers' legs. "Adieu, ma petite Cherie. I'll come see you again soon."  
  
He didn't even give them a chance to react. Turning, he hurried down the stairs of their building, and out onto the main streets again. He'd shoved money into the hands of the poor in the past. Yet he hadn't done such a thing in a long time. He'd only cared about his own wellfare for so many years, that charity had never crossed his mind. Now, there was a lightness to his steps. That darling little child . by her simple innocence and admiration of him. had done something he wasn't yet able to name. Smiling, he continued to wander the city, spending money as he would wish to. The money he'd given to that small family would give them luxurious comfort for a few months, at the very least. At least, he hoped so.  
  
The idea of seeing that child again in the future made him anticipate the coming days like he'd never anticipated them before. He could not wait to see Marguerite again. or her lovely mother. Oh, there was little attraction to her mother, he had to admit. Yet he felt connected to the child so strongly, just by being able to touch her cheek, and see her smile and laugh despite her unfortunate living situations. Oh, things were changing so fast for him. and he had never been so glad for change. 


	4. The Temptations From the Past

A/N I notice that I forgot to mention Marguerite's little sister once Erik brought her home . . . (Or did I? *Devilish smile.* I think I have an idea of how to take care of that.  
  
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Chapter Four: The Temptations from the Past (Or - I WANNA TORMENT MY MANAGERS!!!!)  
  
For a few days, Erik simply found it entertaining, and exhilarating, to walk about Paris all day, often giving some coins to the poor urchins he passed, or buying fresh flowers for his home - which he was cleaning up to the best of his ability during the night. It had come to his attention that perhaps he should abandon the effort to clean his house, considering that almost everything in all the rooms except for Christine's had been destroyed. He did not even have the original scores to his music anymore. However depressing that thought was, Erik was a great deal like Mozart in that it was all locked away in his memory, and would simply need to be re- written.  
  
When he wandered the city, he often bought new clothes, slowly shedding his black garments for something more befitting a young man at that day and age. He still preferred his clothes dark, though.  
  
He put away the fedora which had helped to keep his face hidden in shadows for so long, and found himself buying simple hats that were fashionable, yet to his tastes. Although they seemed to have gone out of style practically before he was born, Erik found it delightfully entertaining to wear a lacy cravat about his throat, the usual dress shirt, and a waist coat with a bit of color to it . . . usually an extraordinarily dark blue or purple. Then, he wore the same dark slacks as always, and the same comfortable shoes. The long dark, concealing cloak that had once made him quite formidable was exchanged for something that seemed to attract the attention of many a young lady that he passed. It was a long, deep dark purple cape of velour.  
  
It was merely a delight to be alive. To be able to be seen by others, but not feared or reviled. There was no disappointment when shopkeepers or scum would try and be difficult with him. He still had his powerful personality, and the hypnotic quality to his voice that could keep any threat at bay. Even those whom he knew would try and swindle him out of a great deal of money for a very cheap trinket would usually be wise enough to offer him a fair price. People took second glances at him as he passed in the street from time to time because he was a handsome, ambitious young man who seemed utterly confident and charming.  
  
He never did forget the little girl he'd seen near his Opera House that one afternoon, selling her dirty little flowers for a few pennies each, simply so that their family could afford something - anything - to eat that evening. He remembered it finding it amusing when he'd handed her those 26 centime, and she'd thought it such a very great deal of money. Then at the shabby apartment, her mother had acted the same way. For only a fraction of the dollar, their spirits had been lifted to beyond what he'd thought possible. Then he'd placed well over one hundred dollars in the woman's shaking hands, and simply walked off without giving them a chance to say thank you. But he still had planned to go back that Sunday afternoon, as he'd promised to return, and see how they were fairing.  
  
Apparently, three days had been too long of a wait for the charming little girl who had all but stolen his heart from him. One early morning, when Erik chose to go for a walk during the quieter hours of the streets - just like he had when he'd been forced to hide in shadows - he heard a young exclamation from down the street - which had at the time been too far away and too soft for him to hear clearly. Yet then, a pair of heeled shoes had come running in his direction. He hadn't paid much attention to this at first. Yet after a moment, a voice called out again, and he smiled uncontrollably.  
  
"Monsieur Erik! Oh, Monsieur!"  
  
Turning, he crouched down so that he'd be able to greet little Marguerite at her height. She looked stunning, with her black hair falling down over her shoulders in luxurious, clean curls . . . and a brand new dress of soft light blue velvet. Her green eyes were sparkling at him excitedly as she came racing towards him. Then, he was vaguely startled to see another girl not far behind her, almost the exact replica of his precious little beauty. The only difference was that she wore a dress of soft peach color.  
  
Twins - he realized. Marguerite was a twin. Yet it only took him a moment to realize this, and he offered his arms to the enthusiastic child with a good-natured laugh. He always had liked children, unless they chose to scream at his appearance. Yet most of them, once he'd been an adult, had not known enough to be afraid of him, so he had always enjoyed their company. Being handsome and young did not change that. The little girl vaulted into his arms, nearly knocking him over. Yet he played the fool for her, hoping that it would make her smile last longer, and let himself fall back onto his backside, sitting on his expensive cape.  
  
"Marguerite!" He greeted happily. "Oh, ma petite beauty! Look at that lovely dress!" He gave her a quick hug - not used to such actions, but glad to offer anything to a child. Turning, he took notice of her twin sister, whom had stopped a few feet away, and was looking at him quite shyly, yet was smiling happily. "Why. who is this lovely Mademoiselle?"  
  
"Oh - this is my sister, Fleur!" Marguerite reluctantly released the tight hold she had about his neck to turn and introduce her sibling, but was smiling as Erik did not loosen his arm about her waist. He could tell this was a child who adored being held and coddled. "Fleur - come say hello to Monsieur Erik! He's the one who gave us the money so that mama could buy us our dresses and blankets!"  
  
The little girl took a step closer, then shook her head quickly, giggling silently. Erik watched her curiously, finding this an odd thing for a child to do. Usually their laughter rang out clear as a bell, often unbidden. Sitting up straighter, he gently placed Marguerite on her small feet, and reached out to touch Fleur's shoulder in a greeting. Yet the little one pulled back, bringing her arms up in front of her, and making a cross out of her arms, as though to tell him silently *NO*.  
  
"She cannot speak, Monsieur." Marguerite said quietly. "Mama says that God did not give her a graceful tongue."  
  
Erik looked between the two girls curiously. Again, he was struck with the speech of the little girl. Days ago, he'd been surprised that her mother was using such graceful language when he visited their apartment. Today, her daughter was speaking the exact same way. Surely their mother had to have at one time been educated in etiquette and speech, or else such a young child would not be speaking so finely.  
  
"I can see that she speaks with her hands." Erik smiled at little Fleur kindly, and she slowly lowered her hands. "It's all right, ma petite. If you do not wish me to, I will not touch you. But you don't have to be afraid of me. I'd never harm you."  
  
"She doesn't like boys." Marguerite laughed. "She's so funny! I don't know why she doesn't like them. I think boys are wonderful!"  
  
"That's actually a bit unusual for a child your age." He confessed to her in a whisper. "At such an age, most boys and girls don't like the opposite gender."  
  
"Gender?"  
  
"Never mind, ma Cherie."  
  
Standing slowly, Erik offered both girls his hands. Marguerite took the offer immediately, and then Fleur took her sisters' arm. Erik was not offended by this. It only showed that Fleur had a different personality than her sister, as was usually the case in identical twins. He'd done enough research in his lifetime to know about them. They began walking down the street together, and Erik paused suddenly, wondering what he was doing.  
  
He'd been about to walk away with these little girls as though he had every right in the world to do it. Oh, certainly no one around them would object. Yet their mother might not approve of him taking them anywhere. Perhaps he should get her permission to take them with him for a day? He had to admit, he was loath to leave their delightful and innocent company.  
  
"Where is your mother today?" He finally asked them, his eyes scanning the street. It was starting to get busier, as more shops and street venders opened. Yet he could not see the woman anywhere. The little girls were quiet for a moment, but then shrugged simply.  
  
"Mama is sleeping. She works at the tavern - just like I told you." Marguerite told him. "She sleeps during the day, and leaves our brother with the landlady."  
  
"Ah, that's right. You did tell me." Erik nodded, and then wondered to himself why their mother would continue working at such a filthy place when he'd given them so much money. Then again, that money would not last for all that long. The woman must have been smart enough to realize this, and so kept her job so that she might be able to continue supporting the family in the future. "Tell me, girls. Have you eaten this morning?"  
  
"No, Monsieur." Marguerite was watching him as though he had her in a wonderful trance. This stunned him. Was it possible his voice was doing things to her that he was not willing it to? No, not possible. He would know the power of his voice if it were at work. Perhaps the child had a slight crush on him. Yes . . . perhaps that was it. "We came straight here after we woke up. Mama said that if we could find you, we could thank you again for your . . . generosity!" She smiled, apparently proud to have remembered such a big word.  
  
"You are more than welcome, ma petite." He promised, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. By this point, Fleur did not seem so shy and uncertain about his company, and allowed him to muss her hair gently when he slowly went to do so. For a moment, Marguerite stared at her sister, and then all three of them laughed. "Come! How would you like to have a muffin for breakfast?" He thought that surely that would be enough for such small bellies.  
  
"Oui, Monsieur!" Both girls nodded eagerly. "Muffins are a good idea!"  
  
Smiling, Erik walked across the street to a vender, and bought them each a muffin. Fleur selected a plain one, with just a little bit of light frosting on it. Erik and Marguerite each selected blueberry muffins. It has to be said, though, that Marguerite refused to make her choice until after Erik had. His suspicions that she might have a crush on him were growing stronger by the minute. They found a bench in front of a nearby dressmakers shop, which had yet to open, and sat to have their breakfast in quite companionship. Then, Erik stood.  
  
"Mademoiselles, I wish I didn't have to say this. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to say good-bye for now." He turned to look at the little girls, and Marguerite seemed to all but have tears in her eyes. Fleur just looked mildly disappointed.  
  
"Monsieur, can we not stay with you the day?" Marguerite asked pleadingly. "Mama would not mind! She said that as long as you said it was all right . . . "  
  
Erik considered this. He'd planned on going to the Opera House that day, because the paper had finally announced that there would be auditions for the chorus, and for a new leading tenor. He could not miss the opportunity. Somehow he had the feeling he would immensely enjoy a career at the Opera. And even though all it would take to make the witless managers hire Erik Génie would be a note from the Opera Ghost, he thought that just once he'd like to be accepted fairly. And if he were hired fairly, that would give him the awesome opportunity of bringing havock to the lives of the foolish managers, and they would never know it was him! It was one of the most entertaining thoughts of his entire life!  
  
"Monsieur?" Marguerite pleaded again. "I promise we won't be trouble! We'll be ever-so-good!"  
  
Smiling, Erik finally nodded.  
  
"Well, my dears. How would you like to see the Opera House?"  
  
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It was quite loud in the corridor where Erik sat on a bench, one little girl sitting on either side of him. The hallway was lined with young men and women warming up their voices, and practicing their audition pieces. Erik simply sat quietly. It was easy for him to warm up his voice without anyone even hearing him. That was one of the perks of ventriloquism. He could warm up from the lowest bass note, to the highest of tenor notes, and not even once be heard by either child at his side.  
  
Marguerite and Fleur were as good as their promise to be good for him that day. An hour and a half had passed since they had sat down, yet neither seemed to mind having to sit still for so long. Not even the other children - mostly of younger age or at least younger maturity levels - had managed to tempt the twins from their seats. Erik was immensely proud of them.  
  
The door to the practice room where auditions were taking place opened, and a few people glanced up while they practiced. The girls looked anxious, sitting up on the bench eagerly. A young man looked over a list of names, and then found the bench where the twins sat with Erik.  
  
"Monsieur Génie?" He asked over the noise of the crowd. Erik nodded, and stood quickly.  
  
"Now, ma petites, you must promise me you will not move from this spot while I go audition." He told the girls. Marguerite stood up on the bench quickly. He found himself grateful that the soles of her shoes were clean, so that they would not ruin the upholstery.  
  
"Might we come in and hear you sing?" She asked. Again, she gave him a beautiful pout that Erik simply could not help but give in to.  
  
"Only if you promise not to say a single word while we are in that room."  
  
"Oh, I promise! And Fleur will be good too!" Both the girls leaped down from the bench, and took his hands as he smiled to them. Gently, he led them into the practice room, past the young man who seemed to be quite impatient at the children's slow progress. Erik did not say anything to the man, but frowned at him. Their little feet could only go so fast.  
  
The room was large, and Erik remembered that he'd designed it with high vaulted ceilings, so that the acoustics would carry the voices of those practicing in the room with ease. Any voice would seem better in it. Erik wondered how much better his voice would sound. Well . . . as the children sat on two chairs by the door, he knew he was about to find out. The managers - Richard and Andre - sat in two chairs on the far side of the room, like a prince and king . . . each on a throne. Erik thought that oddly appropriate and yet disgusting at the same time.  
  
"Good morning, Messieurs." He greeted, sorely tempted to yell at them with his most formidable Phantom voice. He thought the girls would truly enjoy seeing the two managers jump as though they were being shot up with electricity. He would greatly like to see it himself. Yet he restrained himself. He would try his hardest to be on his best behavior.  
  
"What part are you auditioning for?" Richard asked, looking bored, and weary. Undoubtedly they'd been listening to a great deal of people with little to no talent all morning.  
  
"Well, I would like to audition for lead tenor." Erik announced. "But if you think I am only fit for the chorus, I'd be pleased to sing there."  
  
"What will you be singing?" Andre put in, looking just as lifeless as his partner. Erik smiled, feeling his shoulders square. He wondered if they would recognize his voice.  
  
"The part of Faust in the final trio of the Opera." He announced. 


	5. Growing Bonds

A/N - Thank you all so much for your kind reviews. And I have to agree with you about the twins. They are so adorable!! *He = he* I've never had Erik be 'involved' with any child before. This should prove so sweet. It's a hell of a bond for a man who went most of his life without love to suddenly have. Like Jean Valjean, with his first paternal instincts for Cossette. And I'm afraid to disappoint some of you guys, but Erik won't be scaring the managers and revealing himself. He isn't that foolish. (Though they'll still be hearing from OG, I'm sure.)  
  
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Chapter Five: Growing Bonds  
  
Christine hoped she wasn't too late to sign up for auditions. A little breathless, she swept into the Opera House, searching out the usually packed corridors where hopeful singers waited for their turn to show off their talents (or lack thereof). She was so much later than she had intended on being. It hadn't even been possible to exercise her voice before coming. A young man in the managers office was good enough to point out the correct hallway and practice room where the auditions were taking place, and she rushed in that direction without a thank you. She would give it later, if she were able to.  
  
Sure enough, there were people in the designated hallway. But everyone seemed to be crowded around a practice room door. Usually, people line either side of the hallway, warming up their voices and practicing. Yet all was silent in the corridor, and Christine had to strain her hearing for a brief moment to find out what was going on. Floating from the open door was a voice so sweet and pure . . . even at the other end of the corridor, it was unmistakable.  
  
"Erik!"  
  
Smiling, she pushed anxiously through the crowd. Everyone was under the spell of his song. Some people moved aside easily. Others barely budged. It was soon recognizable to Christine that he was singing from what everyone knew was the Opera Ghosts favorite opera. It was even his favorite song out of the entire piece. There would be gaps of silence where - had there been three people singing as there was supposed to be - other parts took over his voice. And then he would take up where he was supposed to, never missing a single beat, keeping perfect timing in his head.  
  
Once in the front of the crowd, she could see Erik standing in the center of the room, his shoulders squared and his back perfectly straight . . . obviously lost within the music as though he too were under the spell of his own voice. When he took a break where usually another male character would be singing, she walked quickly into the room, smiling mischievously. The song was beautiful with Erik alone singing it . . . but with only one out of three parts being sung, she recognized how empty it sounded at the same time. She counted the correct amount of beats before abruptly taking on the female role of the trio, watching Erik the entire time.  
  
"It's the fiend! It's the fiend! DO you see? There in the shadow, His fiery eyes are staring at me! What does he want? Drive the demon away!"  
  
She watched as Erik's body went rigid from shock at the sound of her voice, and smiled even more. Yet he never missed a single beat in the music. Even when there was a long break where the third missing vocal part occurred, he did not lose his composure.  
  
"My God, Protect me now!" She sang eagerly, watching as he slowly turned to partially face her.  
  
"Come!" He replied, his voice more powerful, more emotional than she'd ever heard it before. His eyes were gleaming at her sternly, but he seemed glad she was there.  
  
"My God, I do implore you!"  
  
"Away! Perhaps we still have time to save you!"  
  
"Gather nigh, angels of love, Carry my soul to God above! Forgive me in Thy infinite mercy! Forgive, Almighty God, forgive me!"  
  
By this time, there were no more breaks in the song, although a third party would still have been welcomed into the music. Yet no one tried to take up the third part. Perhaps there were no men in the crowd who sang bass. It wouldn't surprise her greatly. Few men with such low voices were able to sing very well. It was a difficult part to hold. Yet she wasn't really thinking about that at all. She was only able to concentrate on Erik's eyes, as they both held their arms out to one another, without either of them moving closer to the other.  
  
It was a breath taking experience. To sing with Erik again. It was so easy for her soul to fly when her voice was joined with his. This was what she had missed more than anything, when he had for a time, become the frightening apparition who'd threatened her fiancée. Singing with him so that she could feel at last that her father had kept his promise to her.  
  
When the song finished, she was dire3ctly at his side, and he clasped her hands tightly as the onlookers waited for a long, pulsing second of sheer silence. It seemed for that endless moment that no one ever wanted the sublime spell to end. For that moment, Christine agreed with them. Then, jarring her out of the trancelike state in which her joy at singing with Erik had brought her to, the onlookers broke into thunderous applause, and the managers leapt to their feet.  
  
"Bravo!" They exclaimed, although it could barely be heard amidst the clapping and cheering. Erik and Christine smiled at one another, then both turned to look to the management. As Andre and Richard came up to them, Erik had a look of pleasure and . . . mischievousness . . . on his face. Yet Christine was the only one to notice the latter emotion.  
  
"I think we have found our new principal tenor, and our leading soprano!" Richard announced as the crowd seemed to calm. Again, this only brought on a rush of fresh applause. Christine felt her cheeks grow warm, and she thanked them sincerely.  
  
Erik chuckled, bowing formally to both men, then looked back down at Christine. She recognized the stern glint that returned to his eyes. While others moved about, speaking excitedly to one another, he was perfectly calm.  
  
"You didn't warm up properly." He scolded in a soft voice that med her cheeks grow even hotter.  
  
Suddenly, his balance was threatened by two small arms lunging at him at full force. With an exclamation of humored surprise, he looked down at the same time as the shocked Christine. There stood Marguerite and Fleur, the former with her arms wrapped tightly about Erik's leg. Smiling, he put arm down so that his inner forearm supported the back of her head, and his hand rested on the center of her back, between her shoulder bones.  
  
"Monsieur Erik! I've never heard anyone sing like that! Are you an angel?"  
  
Christine looked up to Erik, curious, as his face turned a bit red in embarrassment. He glanced to Christine, wondering about what to say. Slowly, she crouched down to face the little girl.  
  
"Little ones, an angel gave Erik his voice so that he might sing like that." He told them quietly. Then, she looked back up at Erik. "Who are these pretty little ladies?"  
  
"This is Marguerite and her sister Fleur." He introduced. "I met Marguerite a few days ago selling flowers, and have been helping her family financially. Her sister cannot speak . . . Ma petites, this is Mademoiselle Christine Daaé. She sang here as the understudy for the Prima Donna. although it seems she will now be the Prima Donna herself!"  
  
Marguerite lifted her eyes to Christine's eagerly, her gaze bright with amazement and innocent wonders.  
  
"Mademoiselle! Can I do that someday? Sing like that?" She asked excitedly, still holding onto Erik's leg tightly. Erik, finding the desire to be able to move without her tripping him up, leaned down to pick her up into his arms, balancing her easily on one hip. Christine had to wonder where he'd learned to do that. It seemed as though he'd been handling children his entire lifetime.  
  
"If you practice a great deal, ma Cherie, you can do anything in the world that you wish." He told the little one gently. The managers were talking to the crowd by the door, asking them to return to the corridor so that they might continue auditions for the chorus. Erik and Christine silently took this as their cue to leave, and walked out together, with the children at their sides. "I am a music teacher, Cherie. I can teach you if you would like."  
  
"Monsieur Erik, Mama would be so happy!"  
  
Erik laughed again, shaking his head slightly. Oh, but this was delightful indeed. He wasn't even thinking about the audition anymore. He was only thinking about the precious little ones at his side; especially Christine. He still felt that aching love for her, but it was not so painful anymore. He knew that even if he loved none other, he would have a part of her that no one else had. That she would never abandon her maestro . . . and now . . . friend. They walked quietly out of the Opera House, amidst exclamations of congratulations and praise from the others waiting to audition . . . and those who already worked in the Opera.  
  
"If you'll be good enough to excuse me, Erik . . . I promised Meg that I would see her today when she finished practice. I need to go." Christine smiled at Erik, and he took her hand, raising it gently to his lips to kiss her knuckles. He liked to see it made her blush, and glance around almost nervously. Oh, but she wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of people seeing him do this, and taking it the wrong way.  
  
"I shall see you at rehearsal then, Mademoiselle." He said in a gently formal voice. Fleur was clinging to his side by this point, much like her sister. Yet she chose to be more aloof. Her gaze seemed more interested in Christine than in him. "Adieu, ma ami."  
  
"Adieu, Erik." Smiling, she squeezed his hand in her own briefly, and then turned to walk towards the dressing rooms. Erik watched her go with a wistful sigh, and then looked to Marguerite as she sat in his arms. She was watching him with suddenly cross eyes, and he almost laughed. The little lady was jealous. That was an emotion he was all too familiar with.  
  
"Come, ma petites." He said softly. "I think it is time I took you home."  
  
"No, not so soon!" Marguerite protested, immediately forgetting her jealousy as a state of panic took over. "Please, Monsieur? Let us stay with you longer?"  
  
"Ah, but I'm afraid I have things that I must do." He told her gently. "If you would like, I will come back to you tomorrow. I promise that we can spend the whole day doing whatever you please." He pushed the front door to the Opera House open, and walked out, leading Fleur by the hand so she would not get struck by it as it swung shut. It was far too heavy for such a small child to be able to push open. "Here . . . have you ever been on a carriage ride?"  
  
"No, Monsieur."  
  
"Then come." He offered. Pointing towards a cab down the street, all three of them could see it was open-air, and that they might sit high on the back of the seat, and see everything as they rode. Fleur gasped silently, jumping just a little bit. It was the first real excitement he'd seen her show all day. Marguerite, on the other hand, squealed, a sound that nearly deafened the ear her tiny childish lips were the closest to.  
  
He waved to the driver of the cab, and the pair of horses pulling it came cantering up to the curb. Erik gently put Marguerite up into the carriage, and then lifted Fleur in after her, glad that she didn't insist on getting up on her own. The step was so high off the curb, she would have fallen face first onto it, and broken a tooth. Then, climbing in himself, he told the cabbie where to take them. At first, the man looked at him with surprise, but then only nodded. Apparently, he wasn't keen on the idea of going into such a neighborhood.  
  
When Erik sat down, Marguerite crawled up onto the seat and snuggled herself to his side. Erik obligingly put his arm around her shoulder, hugging her gently against him, and watched as Fleur kneeled backwards on the seat on his other side, so that she was a bit higher than she would be sitting down, and looked about anxiously. Obviously, Fleur was far more excited about seeing (and being seen) the scenery pass than Marguerite. who was content to close her eyes and enjoy being coddled.  
  
When they reached the shabby street where the children lived, Erik paid the cabbie, telling him not to wait, and then escorted the twins up to their third story apartment. When they went in, they left the door wide open for him to join them, and he could see that their mother was awake, a little boy fussing in her lap. His face was beet red, and was wailing up a storm. Meanwhile, Madeline was simply trying her hardest to calm him down, unable to find out what was making him so cross.  
  
"Oh, Monsieur!" She greeted, giving him a tired, exasperated smile when she saw him. "I see they found you. I hope that they didn't cause you any trouble."  
  
"Au contraire." He promised her. "They were like two little angels for me the entire time. I was delighted to be in their company." Moving into the room, he gently closed the door behind him. "Might I ask, what is bothering your son? And what is his name?"  
  
"Gerard." She replied softly. "After his father . . . I can't figure out why he's crying. He doesn't sound right, though."  
  
Erik walked over to where she sat on the bed. He'd taken a moment upon entering the apartment to inspect the single room, and found that several brand new quilts covered the single king sized bed, and other new blankets were tucked into a cradle. The bed had brand new pillows, an open closet door showed some new clothes. and he suspected that the pantry was probably filled to the brim with food. He was glad to know he'd been able to help them so much.  
  
Kneeling in front of the woman, he reached out to gently inspect the child, his trained eyes and ears doing more for him than any doctors stethoscope. Sighing, he shook his head.  
  
"I believe he may have colic." He told the worried mother. "I can come back this evening with something that might help cure it, if you'd like."  
  
"I'd appreciate it." Madeline said simply. "You've done so much for us, Monsieur. Is there anything in the world that I can do for you in return?" He watched her face as she said this, and he almost immediately felt hot boiling rage in his mind. Yet he pushed it down. The woman had probably been forced to give 'payment' for a mans gifts before.  
  
"You can do one thing for me." He finally said gently. "Tell me about their father. And why it is that you are in this place. I can tell that you weren't born a waif."  
  
"No, Monsieur. You're right at that." She held her son against her as he began to calm down at least a little bit. "I was in a middle class family before I fell for Gerard the second. Well he was a trouble maker . . . at least to his upper class family he was. He wasn't to me. He was a charming prince. Well . . . their family simply didn't accept our relationship. We married, and he was disowned by his family. Cut off from all ties, he was unable to find work. So because I was married, and had no job myself, I had no income of my own coming in. Nothing to support us. But we managed quite well. Then, as I said, he died of cholera about a year and a half ago."  
  
"I'm very, truly sorry." Erik said in a quiet voice, touching her shoulder in comfort. She smiled at him gratefully. "What did your husband do for a living himself, to support you?"  
  
"Oh, he was a brick layer."  
  
Erik nodded, and stood.  
  
"Thank you very much, Madame." Turning, he watched as Marguerite and Fleur opened the door of a cabinet, and pulled out a small loaf of bread, tearing off a few pieces to chew on. "Do you still have plenty of money, Madame? Those blankets and dresses must have cost you a fortune." And he noticed then that Madeline was wearing a brand new dress herself.  
  
"Oui, Monsieur. I put the rest of the money in the bank." She said proudly. "I haven't been able to do that before."  
  
"I'll bring you just a bit more money when I come back with the cure for your son." He promised softly. "You never have to do anything in return. Just know that I will help your family in any way I possibly can. Your daughters are very sweet, and I adore their company. I hope you'll let me see them again."  
  
"Of course, Monsieur!" She said quickly. "Marguerite adores you . . . told me so the moment you left that day. If you don't mind being a bit of a father to them . . . I'm sure that's probably why they like you so much . . ."  
  
"I only wish I could really be their father." Erik admitted in a whisper. Bowing briefly to Madeline, he walked over to the small kitchen table, where the girls were still sharing their bread. "Here, ma petites. I'm leaving now. I'll come back tonight, and then again tomorrow. All right?"  
  
"Adieu, Monsieur." Marguerite stood on her chair, holding her arms out to him. Smiling, Erik hugged her tightly, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He was truly startled, though, when he received a kiss on the cheek in return. Gently putting her down, he mussed her hair with his hand, and then did the same to little Fleur, who waved to him a bit shyly.  
  
"Until tonight." He said to the family, before reluctantly stepping back outside. He knew right then that he would not let them continue to live in such a horrible place for much longer. Even if he had to repair the house beyond the lake so that it could accommodate all four of them and himself . . . he was willing to do it. For the sake of the children, if nothing else. 


	6. A proposition

A/N - I am running out of inspiration, at least as to what will happen after this chapter. Indeed, the writing of this chapter might prove utterly boring and lacking talent, so please forgive me until my muse returns.  
  
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Chapter 6: A proposition  
  
The tavern was very busy that night, as it was on most nights. The regular drunks were already well on their way to passing out, and those who simply popped in from time to time, or were passing through, seemed to be rowdier than usual. Madeline sighed as she quickly served a group of aggressive drunks another round of their strongest whiskey, and bit back a sharp retort when one of them roughly smacked her on the backside.  
  
"Oh, Piss off!" She finally said to one of their smart and disgusting questions. Turning, she walked back to the bar, slamming empty mugs on the countertop. Her boss - the self-nicknamed Casanova - watched her with mild amusement.  
  
"Well at least we won't be bored tonight." He pointed out. She rolled her eyes, and turned to look about the room. The door to the tavern swung open again, and she got ready to service yet another annoying drunkard. Yet the man that stepped in was younger than most of the brutes there, and was dressed quite finely. His long auburn hair was pulled back into a tail, and he carried a hat under his arm as amber eyes searched through the tavern.  
  
Madeline could scarcely believe it. It was the gentleman who this past week had been so good to her daughters and herself. The man had not told her he was going to come calling after her at her work. She'd assumed he'd bring the medicine for her sons upset stomach back to the filthy apartment where her little girls sat with their brother and the landlady. It was very unexpected for him to find her eyes across the room, and then head directly towards her. There was such a tense air of power gathered about him. It certainly seemed to intimidate the aggressive drunks he past into becoming quiet a brief moment.  
  
"Good evening, Madame." He greeted formally, half bowing to her. "Would it be possible to speak with you outside? Where it is quieter. This place and these people make me feel quite sick, having to be near them."  
  
Oh, so there were people that he detested, she thought bemusedly, following him through the crowd to step out into the quiet street. She hadn't imagined that he could find anything appalling, even though he obviously found children and women far more appealing company than that of any man.  
  
"Is Gerard all right?" She asked a bit nervously, wondering now if perhaps he'd come to talk about her son. Erik looked at her quickly, then smiled.  
  
"No, Madam. He's fine." He promised. "The drink I gave him helped him to feel a great deal better. I'm here for quite another reason. Well . . . considering that both have to do with the well being of your family, perhaps it isn't really so different at all."  
  
Madeline stared at him for a long moment. She didn't understand. When this became apparent, he continued as though there had been no pause at all.  
  
"In only a few days, Madam, I've grown so fond of your little ones. We both know that they deserve better than what you're capable of giving them, under these unfortunate circumstances."  
  
"What?" She was reluctant to admit it, but of course he was right. She couldn't possible afford to keep raising three growing children with the salary she earned. "What do you have in mind, Monsieur?"  
  
"I have a proposition." He said gently. "Let me give you and your family a better chance than what you have right now. Let me give your family a home in a better neighborhood. Let me find you a better paying job that is more worthy of you than this."  
  
Shock overwhelmed her. Who on earth was this man? Really? No one ever gave such things freely. Something was always asked for in return. Just the same, he didn't look like the type of man who would demand vulgar payment for his kindnesses. He had done so much for her and her daughters and son already, and he wanted to do more? At such a young age, she found it rather odd he would have enough money to do the things he proposed.  
  
"What would I have to do, Monsieur?" She asked a little bit nervously. He was a handsome man, she began to think to herself. A bit younger than she was, but still handsome. And he really did seem fond of her children. If he asked her for anything, she would give it gladly, just for the chance for her children to have a better life. Yet she still dreaded the prospect that there might truly be a price.  
  
For a long minute, Erik watched her stupidly. Then, his eyes widened. He seemed totally repulsed that she would think him capable of demanding anything from her. A hot flush crept up his young looking cheeks. What she thought he was proposing was deplorable!  
  
"My dear woman, I swear to you that I wish for nothing in return!" He reached out, touching her shoulder lightly. "I want to do this for the sake of your children, and you yourself. I love the girls dearly. If anything were to happen to them because of the circumstances in which they live at present, I . . ." He stopped then, calming down.  
  
Madeline nodded quickly, totally in awe of this man. She saw the blush that rose to his cheeks when he realized what she'd thought he might ask of her. Was such a fine young man still a virgin? It seemed impossible to her that some fine young woman hadn't caught him up in her arms already. Not that it was any good fortune to her that he was still single. He might not be too much younger than she - six years at most. Yet that was difference enough for her.  
  
"I'm afraid that my home is not fit enough for such a large family." He began quietly after a long moment. "Would you give me a few days to find you a decent apartment? I'll even arrange for you to have a job in the Opera House. I have no doubt that Marguerite has already told you I've been granted a position there?"  
  
"Oh, she talks about nothing else." Madeline finally laughed, at lease. "I'm actually relieved she has a man that she might be able to admire. Her fathers' death was very hard on her, and since then she has had no strong figure in her life."  
  
Erik smiled softly, nodding in understanding.  
  
"Marguerite was still up when I left little Gerard and the landlady." He said finally. "She forced me to promise to go back tonight. I think she wants to go with me to my home. She always seems so despondent when I leave."  
  
"Oh, I'm sure she just wants you to tuck her into bed." Madeline turned with a laugh. "I have to get back to work now. Good-bye, Monsieur, and thank you so much!" She was giddy as she returned to work in the tavern, her hands shaking just a little bit for several minutes. This, she was certain, had to be a dream. Such luck couldn't possibly have come at a better time!  
  
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"Monsieur Erik, are you going to be my new Papa?"  
  
He was taken aback by the question, as he tucked her into the king- sized bed of the dingy apartment, beside her slumbering sister. Looking down at Marguerite, he lightly touched her dark hair, which was clean and like silk beneath his fingertips. The eagerness in her eyes shown through, and he felt sorry that he could not grant her the answers she wanted.  
  
"No, ma Cherie." He said quietly. "I am not going to be your new Papa. But I would very much like it if you'd let me be *like* a papa to you. Would you let me do that?"  
  
She smiled, nodding happily. Smiling, Erik leaned down to kiss her forehead. She really was a delightful child.  
  
"Would you like me to sing you to sleep?" He offered gently. Again, she nodded, closing her eyes, and snuggling herself into the warm blankets. "All right. What should I sing for you?"  
  
"Can you sing that pretty part of the song you sang at your audition?" Erik almost laughed at the way she'd put that, but managed to keep from smiling too much at her mistakes. There were far more graceful ways of putting that question. Yet she was only a child. She didn't know. "It sounded like a lullaby."  
  
"All right." He whispered. "But you must go to sleep."  
  
She closed her eyes, and snuggled deeper into her pillow. Leaning forward, Erik methodically caressed her hair, seeing how it helped to lull and relax her, as he began to sing. Because he was again singing alone, he switched the words around when necessary, so that he might be able to sing two or three parts without it sounding odd.  
  
"Yes, my sweet beloved. Yes, it's you, I love you. Now death cannot ever frighten you again. Once more I have found you. Once more I have found you. I have come to save you. At last you are in my arms. Yes, my sweet beloved. Yes, my love, I do love you. Despite all endeavors of the evil fiend. Once more I have found you. Once more I have found you. I have come to save you. I have come to save you. My love, come, come to my arms. . ."  
  
At this point, he leaped ahead in the song. He'd changed enough so far, and only wished to switch the gender mentioned in each verse if it was possible. The song was too beautiful to change too much. Marguerite was almost asleep by this point, and it brought bittersweet memories of how he'd sung Christine to sleep once before.  
  
"I remember our garden too. Fragrant with the sweet scent of roses. Where in the dark of gentle night, we felt the joy of love enclose us."  
  
That verse was painfully short. He thought of what he might do to continue lulling her to sleep. She reached over across the blanket then, her arm heavy with sleep, and took his hand in a surprisingly tight grip. Slowly, Erik took in another long, deep breath, deciding he need not continue, but simply repeat himself. which he did gladly - excluding the last lines each time he sang. Yet every time he went over the words, he sang them in a different language. It took four more times to get Marguerite into a deep sleep, and he managed to pry his hand from her grip, and sneak out of the house without awakening her.  
  
Oh, he most definitely wanted to be like a father to her. If she were an orphan, he gladly would have adopted them all immediately. Yet they had a mother who loved them just as dearly. He'd never take children away from their parents. It was one of the many despicable things he simply could never do. He pondered these things as he went back to the Opera House, and finally made his way above into the locked and darkened managers office. All was locked and abandoned until the following day, when he would go back as a performer. Grabbing up a pen, he left a note.  
  
'My dear Managers,  
  
I do hope that this letter finds you well. There is no need to feel panicked. Yet I am afraid I have another thing to ask of you. Do Not bother trying to find me, for you never shall. Yes, I am still Alive, and still paying attention to what you do in my Opera. I'm very pleased with the man and woman you have selected to take Over for Mme Carlotta and Monsieur Piangi. Have no fear of hearing from me about such things again.  
  
I do have one thing to ask of you, and that is regarding a young woman in need of proper employment. I shall send her to your offices within the next several days. Her name is Madeline, and I wish you to give her a proper job that will give her decent salary. That is all I am asking of you, Messieurs. Keep in mind that if you should cast this woman aside. . . Well . . . you know the consequences!  
  
One more thing . . . my salary. I will be in need of it again shortly, so prepare yourselves for the demands that will come. I have decided to be lenient, and reduce my own salary. I think it only fair, considering you will be paying for the salary of Madeline, don't you?  
  
Your obedient Servant, O.G.' 


	7. Rehearsals

A/N - Everyone. Thank you once again for your marvelous reviews. I feel giddy when I think of some of the kind things you've said. Oh - for Desolator the dragon, I thank you very, very much. Yet there is no need to check every few hours. I usually only post once a day, whether it's only one chapter, or several at one time. All right? I'm sorry but my muse is still being picky and mean, so my posts will be slowing.  
  
Thank you so much! --Angelofnight  
  
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"Oh . . . my dear managers . . . I found this envelope on the floor beneath box five. It must have fallen from there. It's addressed to you."  
  
Ah, what a fun game. Erik had come into the theatre early that morning, before anyone else had arrived, to see that the managers received his note. Of course they had received it, and read it thoroughly. To see his handwriting again, along with his demands, made them sputter and quake humorously. Erik often found it hard not to laugh outright as he watched and listened from the shadows, just like the Opera Ghost was best at doing. And since then, he'd decided he liked seeing them kept up on their feet. The envelope he was now handing to Monsieur Richard held nothing more than a simple few lines reminding them about Madeline. Yet it was enough to start them going again. He only decided to lightly torment them a bit more simply because it made him laugh. He had no ill intentions towards them whatsoever today. He was in too good of a mood to take on the persona of the Phantom once more!  
  
"Thank you . . . Monsieur . . ." Richard opened the latter with trembling hands, and Erik bowed politely, making as though he were walking out of the office. Yet he stopped just outside the door and watched from the darkened hallway as they began sputtering and arguing. Oh, he liked enraging them! And they had no idea they'd just seen the Opera Ghost face- to-face!  
  
"Erik!"  
  
He turned abruptly at the sound of a voice calling his name, and then smiled even more broadly. Christine was coming down the hallway, wrapped tightly in a soft velvet coat with a bit of white fur on the edges of it. No doubt it had been a gift from her fiancée. Her golden hair was piled high atop her head, and she smiled at him warmly as she came closer. Erik held out his hands in greeting as the lights to the hallway were turned on by one of the stage workers down the hall.  
  
"Christine, my dear!" He greeted warmly. "You look absolutely beautiful this morning! Are you ready for your first day as the true Prima Donna of the Opera House?" She giggled softly, squeezing his hands tightly in excitement.  
  
"Yes, very ready." She exclaimed. "Are you ready to become principal tenor? You aren't used to running around the schedule of others, Erik. This may prove to be trying on your patience."  
  
"Oh, come now, Christine!" He scolded, laughing as he turned to escort her down the corridor. "You know perfectly well that I never run out of patience!"  
  
They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, walking up to the next floor to find their assigned dressing rooms. Erik's was only a few doors away from Christine's, and they both laughed when they saw she still had the same room as long before. Her door was away from all of the others, though not so far away so that she wasn't in a still relatively busy area. Erik had no doubt that this was the managers' doing. They probably thought Christine was still going to be in league with the Opera Ghost!  
  
"Well, Cherie, shall I leave you to prepare yourself?" He asked quietly, his eyes growing soft as he finally took a moment to really admire her beauty. His heart still ached every time he looked at her. When he watched her speak, his lips always tingled in remembrance of the one kiss she'd given him. The only kiss he'd ever known. She looked back up at him quietly, totally unawares as to where his thoughts were.  
  
"Actually, Erik . . . I was wondering . . . If you weren't too busy . . ."  
  
"What is it, Christine? You can ask anything of me. You know that." Slowly, he reached up to touch her cheek gently. How odd. A week ago, he never would have dared touch her, for fear of her shrinking away from him. Now, he went doing things left and right that he would have hesitated in doing as the Phantom. What a change in confidence he had with such a beautiful and young face.  
  
"Would you help me warm up my voice? I keep your lessons in mind every single day when I practice. I haven't been idle. I swear to you. I just . . . I miss our lessons, if truth be told."  
  
"So do I." He breathed softly, his hand dropping to his side. "Come. We can go to one of the practice rooms. I don't have my violin with me. I don't have it at all anymore, actually. Almost all of my things were stolen or destroyed by the mob. So we'll have to use the piano in the practice room."  
  
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Monsieur Reyer was still the choral instructor of the Opera House. Apparently, he was the only one who had not been scared into leaving (other than the dim-witted managers) by the affairs of the Opera Ghost. Erik had always felt a certain respect towards the man. He was good at his job with even the most uncooperative or addlebrained of singers he was meant to instruct.  
  
Unfortunately, however, Ubaldo Piangi, deceased principal tenor, had always taken up a great deal of Monsieur Reyer's attention with his mistakes in pronunciation, and the horrible way in which he would often destroy majestic pieces of work with his uncooperative voice. Oh, the man had a fine voice, but it was so untrained that it was a miracle he could hold a tune without someone singing it directly into his ear!  
  
Because of how much time Piangi had always taken up Monsieur Reyer's time, the chorus had rarely been given enough attention. True, their ability to sing correctly was secondary to the principal roles in any opera. Yet still Erik often found himself shuddering at their lack of preparation during performances. At least now Reyer would be able to commit more time to the chorus, who was always trying desperately just to keep up.  
  
He had it all planned, you see. Erik knew how he could make certain that the chorus got the attention they needed. Without trying to offend Monsieur Reyer, or step on his toes as a professional, he would tell the man he was well versed in how to give vocal instruction to the principal parts of the opera. Then, if Monsieur Reyer did not object, he would gladly take those people into a separate practice room to go over their roles, including his own (for the sake of fairness. Erik knew, after all, that he would need very little instruction himself.), while Monsieur Reyer at the same time rehearsed on stage with the chorus. That way, rehearsals would go so much easier, and would take up far less time. That was only, of course, if Monsieur Reyer did not object. Erik respected the man enough not to make demands. And he didn't want to seem like a pompous, stuck up Prima Donna, like Piangi or Carlotta.  
  
Before any of this would be possible, however, he had to survive his first day of rehearsals with those who had feared his countenance as the Phantom for many years now. Again, the thought almost amused him. Yet he managed to remain distracted by listening to the chorus and secondary roles of the opera as they rehearsed. Another way to spend the time was to stare at Christine, and simply appreciate her beauty, and their true friendship with one another. If he became bored, he would simply look over the auditorium with his eyes, and see if anything might need repairing. If it did, he would just send another note to the managers as the Opera Ghost.  
  
"Monsieur Génie, your role is as such . . ."  
  
Erik waved to the man politely, shaking his head.  
  
"Monsieur Reyer, I promise you that I am quite well-versed in my part." He assured the man softly. "I can sing it now without reminder of how it goes." To dull the edge of his words, he gave the instructor a gracious smile, which was returned by the man with a little nod that seemed like a partial bow. Monsieur Reyer began to play the instrumental part of the piece, and Erik grinned. So he was trying to challenge him now? Well Erik could meet just about any challenge!  
  
"No man has called me coward. And shall not while I live!" There was a pause as another man sang a few words.  
  
"Decide, then!" Erik glanced to the man who was to play the Commendatore opposite him, and nodded briefly.  
  
"I have decided."  
  
"You'll come then?" Another voice broke in. Erik almost grinned. Without even going over their parts, everyone on the stage was leaping into their roles without being asked.  
  
"Tell him you won't! Tell him you won't!"  
  
"No man shall call me coward! I feel no fear! I will!"  
  
"Give me your hand and swear it!"  
  
"Certainly!" Erik paused, looking towards Monsieur Reyer. The man looked utterly speechless. Things had never gone so smoothly before. Oh, certainly the others held an off note or two. Yet for the most part, there was little to go over. Perhaps it was simply that they had the sufficient confidence at last. "Let go!"  
  
"Afraid?"  
  
"I feel a deadly cold!"  
  
"Kneel and pray God for pardon. His mercy still can save you!"  
  
"Let dotards talk of kneeling. God is a fairy tale!"  
  
The music stopped abruptly, and all was silent for a long minute. Erik looked around at those who stared back at him. Monsieur Reyer stood slowly, bowing to him politely, and then turned.  
  
"Monsieur Favãe, please begin on measure . . ."  
  
The rehearsal continued quite smoothly after that. During the break that the cast took for lunch, Erik took the opportunity to take Monsieur Reyer aside, and give the man his proposition. Eagerly, Monsieur Reyer accepted. So after the lunch break, Erik would take the other principal cast members into another practice room to go over their roles with them. Christine and a Jacques Lefeúre, who would play the role of Leporello in the Opera they were rehearsing - "Don Giovanni" - seemed to need the most assistance, although both were very well practiced already.  
  
Yet first, Erik needed to find himself some lunch. It would not be easy to keep his patience up if he was working on an empty stomach. He still ate very little, as he had in the past. Yet now he had just a little bit more. At least now he had two meals a day, three if anything came to mind that he might wish to eat just for the sake of tasting. Slowly, he made he way towards the front doors of the Opera House, and stopped immediately when he saw Madeline standing in the middle of the lobby, searching out his face anxiously.  
  
"Madeline?" He moved across the room quickly, and she finally saw him amidst the cast members also moving outside. "Madeline . . . I hadn't expected you to come here today. Come along. We can get you in to see the managers right away."  
  
She followed him quietly, looking about the building in awe at what she saw after each turn. It gave Erik pleasure to see someone admiring one of his greatest accomplishments. He had, after all, taken a great part in building the Opera House. He turned to urge her closer to him, however, ill at ease with how she wandered a distance away. He kept one hand hovering behind the small of her back as he lead her towards the managers office, and knocked quietly.  
  
"Messieurs, I have a young lady here to see you. A Madame Madeline."  
  
The door opened immediately, and Erik tried to stifle a laugh at the looks on the faces of the managers. They seemed to be glancing around nervously, believing that the Opera Ghost was probably watching them. Slowly, Erik urged her into the office, and then leaned against the doorframe, watching casually.  
  
"She says that she is in search of a job." He said quietly, before Madeline could speak. She turned to look at him curiously, and he just winked. "Do you think we can do anything for her?"  
  
"Oh . . . I am sure we can find something!" Andre said quickly, still looking around at the walls, even at the ceiling! Erik had to make at rubbing his chin as though it itched to keep from showing them a grin. "Come and sit down, Madame, while we speak of your experiences . . ."  
  
He was quite certain that Madeline would be safe in the hands of the managers, and so slowly turned to walk back out of the Opera House. He needed to get his lunch before it was too late. Yet as he stepped out into the bright sunlight, he was surprised to see Christine sitting in an open- air carriage, waving him over.  
  
"Erik! There you are!" She exclaimed. "I thought you were never going to come out! Come have lunch with me!"  
  
Smiling, he made his way down the steps of the Opera House.  
  
"How could I turn down such a lovely invitation?" He asked, laughing happily as he climbed into the cab to sit beside her. He took her hand gently, kissing the back of it before simply resting their joined hands between them. Today had no downfalls at all. There was only a bit of guilt lingering in his mind. He'd promised Marguerite and Fleur that they might spend the entire day with him, and he had not been able to even apologize to them when he realized rehearsals would start today. Yet they were good children, and very understanding. Surely they would forgive him.  
  
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N/A - I originally had this chapter ending with Madeline coming only to ask Erik's help with Fleur, who had developed a fever. Yet I thought putting the twins in every single scene would get poor Erik NOWHERE. 


	8. Temptations

A/N - All right. You've all been waiting for SOMETHING to happen. so hopefully it will occur in this chapter. I had several ideas for it, but now I give up and am just winging it with a single picture of a possibility in my mind.  
  
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Chapter 8: Temptations  
  
"I am absolutely amazed." Monsieur Reyer was saying excitedly to Erik after rehearsals had ended, and people were packing up to go home for the evening. Erik had just checked in on Madeline, who had apparently gone to work immediately after the managers hired her, painting scenery with a few other stage hands. There were always sets to be touched up, and brand new ones in the making. Such a job would keep her busy until she became cross- eyed. But at least it was better work than working at the tavern. Now, he was watching the chorus instructor with a polite and humbled gaze. "I have never seen anything like that happen in this theatre my entire life. Are you certain you picked the right profession? You should be the instructor and not the star!"  
  
"What's wrong with being both?" Erik chuckled. "Really, I am very happy to tutor the talented voices that need my help. But I'd much rather sing if truth be told."  
  
"And you sing very well." Monsieur Reyer complimented quietly. Erik bowed his head in humbled thanks. This mans opinion meant a surprisingly great deal to him. "Perhaps we can continue to help each other. Tomorrow I'm going to be working on the wedding scene with the chorus. Perhaps you'll be able to take a bit of time with Mlle Longiè and Monsieur Duvall on the seduction scene."  
  
"Which one?" Erik asked jokingly. Of course, he knew perfectly well that the instructor was talking about the scene from 'Don Giovanni' in which Zerlina seduces her husband after being beaten by Giovanni. Monsieur Reyer rolled his eyes, then chuckled, finally having picked up all the scattered scores which some careless chorus members had left behind when they went home. He'd always hated that so few of the chorus practiced outside of rehearsals.  
  
"Erik . . ."  
  
Turning, he smiled quietly at Christine as she stood wearing her soft coat over her dress. She was apparently ready to go home for the evening. Why, he wondered, had she stayed behind? They would have plenty of time to see each other during rehearsals for many months - maybe even years - to come. Glancing and Monsieur Reyer, he bid the man a good evening, and then turned to walk off the stage and into the corridor with Christine.  
  
"Is there something I can do for you?" He asked courteously, offering her his arm. She took the offered limb quietly, her eyes deliberately not meeting his. That was odd. All during that day, she had rarely looked away from him. Especially when they were speaking directly to one another. He wondered why she was suddenly so shy.  
  
"I still do not feel comfortable in the balcony scene." She said quietly. Erik knew she was referring to the point in the opera where her character, Donna Elvira, would be seduced by Leporello, the cowardly henchman of Giovanni. For their production, at least, these scene would take place at a balcony. "I was wondering if you would go over it again with me."  
  
"It will be vaguely hard to go over it without our Leporello here." He pointed out with a smile. "But I can help you with your part. I'd be delighted to, Christine."  
  
"Thank you . . ." She said simply until they were back in a small practice room. Erik did not think as she removed her coat and slung it over a chair that was placed against a wall. As Erik put his score on the music stand of the grand piano, he removed his cloak and moved to lay it gently on the same chair, while tenderly straightening out her coat.  
  
"Such fine material. You shouldn't let it be spoiled." He told her quietly. He turned to smile at her, and then moved towards the piano. Christine only gave him a very soft flicker of a smile as he sat at the piano bench, and fingered through the score to 'Don Giovanni' until he found the scene she wanted to go over. "Shall we begin?" His back was partially to her now. He assumed that she would move to stand closer to his side, so he might better hear her mistakes - if there were any to begin with.  
  
Beginning to play, he listened very carefully as Christine began to sing. Oh, it was heavenly to have her singing for him once more. Earlier, in rehearsal, he had been forced to share her voice. He would always have to share her voice. Yet whenever she asked privately for him to help her, she would be singing for him alone. He could continue to wonder in the voice he had helped to create and give strength to. He dared to still believe that he had even been the one to place the inspiration in her voice. Only her voice could ever cause such fine tremors to go through him. As he played, he slowly closed his eyes, just listening to her, able to know she was slowly coming closer to him.  
  
The temptations that soared through him when he thought about how she would be so near him. She would dare to come within only a few feet of him when they were so achingly alone, and knew how unlikely it was they would be bothered. His fingertips began to tingle and ache, but he did not falter as he played along with her voice. To falter now would be to break the delicate spell her voice had created over him. He did not wish to leave the moment so suddenly, even though he knew that eventually he must.  
  
The scene was nearly over, and she had not faltered once. He was amazed, even though he knew how wonderful her voice was. Never had she sung so faultlessly. Never. Slowly, his eyes began to open. And just then he felt a hand gently take his shoulder. He did not show any surprise, for he knew it belonged to her. Yet his muscles had to tighten. It felt as though electricity were running through his entire body.  
  
She would tempt him so much when she knew perfectly well that his feelings for her had not died!  
  
"Erik?"  
  
He opened his eyes fully, and looked down at his hands. He hadn't even realized that the song had come to an end. He was only aware of the pressure her fingers continued to create on his shoulder. Turning his head, he looked down at her hand, and then brought his own up to pick her fingers up, and bring them lightly to his lips. He simply had to kiss her hand. He swore to himself he'd do nothing more. This would be such a small act of affection. Surely she would not begrudge him simply letting her know that he still loved her.  
  
"Christine. . ." He sighed softly, bringing the back of her hand to his cheek. Oh, it was marvelous for her not to shrink away from him in fear or revulsion! It was so amazing! It was something that he would never stop feeling shock over. "Oh . . . my dear Christine. . ." Slowly, he released her hand, and stood up.  
  
"What's wrong, Erik?" She asked in concern. Erik turned to look into her eyes. She was still so naive! Still so innocent! Even after all that had happened between them. . . even after all she knew! Managing another smile, he touched her cheek quickly.  
  
"I need to be going." He whispered. "You did perfectly, my dear. Please excuse me for leaving you in a hurry."  
  
"Is something wrong?" She insisted as he swept past her to retrieve his cloak. Turning, he looked back at her over his shoulder. His muscles were still tensed. To think that even as a handsome young man, he was still so tormented by his body!  
  
"No, ma Cherie." He promised. "Nothing is wrong. I am just reminiscing with myself. I also must go see the twins. You remember them, don't you? They were with me at the auditions." He was glad to have something to abruptly occupy his mind. It also proved a good excuse to hurry out. "I promised they could spend the day with me, but rehearsals started today and I had no time to tell them. I must go apologize to them. Maybe I'll take them out to supper."  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" She gasped. "I shouldn't be keeping you, then!"  
  
"Nonsense!" He scolded. "You know that you come before anything else. Even if it is for something as small as giving you help on a difficult part!" He smiled at her more genuinely, and then turned to hurry out of the room. "Adieu for now, my dear."  
  
He closed the practice room door behind him, making certain that Christine would not come searching after him. Then, after a moment, he picked his hand up from the doorknob, turning to flee down the hallway, and into one of the secret wall panels. He would go to see Madeline, he thought to himself. He would tell her that he was going to find her daughters and son, and take them all to supper. He was anxious to forget what he'd just experienced in the practice room. If he did not push it aside immediately, it would taunt him all knight.  
  
Madeline was painting a set in the right wing of the stage, left alone by her supervisor and other painters for a moment. He had to smile as he came out of his hiding place. She was obviously a very hard worker. Even when everyone else left or gave up, she was still there to try and get the job done. How very dedicated of her.  
  
"Good evening, Madeline." He greeted softly, startling her blatantly. Madeline gasped, and turned, a smear of blood red paint on her left cheek. He chuckled, reaching down to pick up a rag, and then moved closer to her as she realized who was behind her. Reaching up, he gently wiped away the smear that marred her pretty face. "I don't think you want to go out into the streets looking like this." He teased softly.  
  
"Monsieur Erik, you startled me." She said honestly, blushing a little bit. Erik found her blush endearing. Much like he found the attentions of her daughters endearing.  
  
"That, my dear Madeline, is quite apparent." He laughed gently. "Please, you don't need to call me Monsieur all of the time. Call me Erik. It is all that anyone has ever called me before . . . when the chose to address me at all."  
  
"Why wouldn't they?" She asked, turning back to the set she was painting. She began to work at it while talking to him at the same time.  
  
"It's a long story." He said simply. "One I would rather not get into. Well . . . do you plan on being here much longer?"  
  
"I'm going to put another coat of paint on these stubborn apples." She said, pointing to the said fruit on the set of the apple tree. "The green of the leaves keep showing through!"  
  
"What made them have you paint?" He asked curiously.  
  
"One of my hobbies before I married my husband was artistry." She explained softly. "What are you still doing here, Mon -- Erik? I thought that everyone had gone home for the night."  
  
"Almost everyone has." He conceded. "I just wanted to ask if it was all right that I took your little ones out for supper. It seems you're going to be here a while longer, and I'm need to make my apologies for not taking them with me today. I promised them I would."  
  
"Yes . . . Marguerite mentioned that this morning." Madeline said thoughtfully. "She told me to scold you."  
  
Erik smirked.  
  
"Are you going to scold me, Madeline?" He asked softly, his voice gentle but teasing at the same time. He almost sounded sincere.  
  
"Of course not!" She laughed outright, not noticing how he was all but flirting with her. Erik didn't even realize it himself, so there was no real point in either party acknowledging it. "I think Marguerite will scold you plenty enough on her own. You don't need me to scold you on top of it!"  
  
"Quite true." He sighed. "Ah, well . . . good evening, Madeline. I do hope that this works out for you."  
  
"So do I." She agreed softly, smiling as he made himself a part of the shadows once more.  
  
Once back outside, Erik felt refreshed. The episode with Christine was all but forgotten. Encountering Madeline with her soft sweetness had been just the thing he needed to forget the alluring innocence of his protégé. Having almost no attraction whatsoever to the somewhat older woman had cooled his lusts.  
  
Now he had to find the children. 


	9. A Pleaseing Night

A/N - Well . . . I hope you enjoyed seeing our poor beloved Erik being emotionally tortured again. I don't know why fans seem to live for that kind of thing . . . even though I enjoy the same type of thing as though as he isn't being harmed. Anyhow . . . even though I don't plan at the moment to have Erik go soliciting, I do need to tell people that if he even takes the slightest interest in the idea, it's because I noted in the Susan Kay book "Phantom" that he only never approached a prostitute because he feared even they would reject him. Anyhow . . . I just wanted to say that now in case anything should happen. Though, as I said, I've as of yet no intention of that happening.  
  
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Chapter 9: A Pleasing Night  
  
Erik was quiet as he crept up the old stairs to the third story apartment room that belonged to Madeline and her family. There was light coming from in the single room, and he peered in a window to see Fleur, Marguerite, and the landlady with little Gerard in her lap, all sitting around the small table for a light supper of hot meaty soup with chunks of vegetables, fresh bread and butter, and obviously cold glasses of milk. He wondered how much of a treat such fresh foods must be to them. To have nice, cold milk, that did not threaten to start curdling within the next hour or so. He was certain that everything about the meal must be a rare treat to them.  
  
He watched them for a long moment. Fleur - who he could discern from her sister because of a deep dimple in her chin - was enjoying her supper with a quiet smile. She didn't seem much changed since the day before. Marguerite, on the other hand, was picking idly at her food. She looked so depressed. He supposed that she was probably going to be furious with him when she saw him there.  
  
Sighing, he tapped lightly on the door. Everyone looked up as he leaned over to look in through the window. Fleur was the first one to move. With a smile and a wave, she hurried out of her seat to open the door for him. Erik knelt down, smiling to greet her with a tender hug as she wrapped her arms about his shoulders. She didn't like to be picked up, so he just remained kneeling there until she chose to pull away. Then, Fleur turned and hurried over to her sister, tugging on her arm.  
  
"Oh, leave me alone, Fleur!" Marguerite spat irritably, elbowing her identical sister away. Fleur pouted, then looked up at Erik.  
  
"It's all right, Fleur." Erik told her gently. Moving across the room, he stood tall beside Marguerite's chair. "She's upset with me for not coming to collect you both this morning." Slowly, he knelt down, putting his hand close to hers on the table. "I'm very sorry, ma petite. But I only found out this morning that I had to be at the Opera for rehearsals. I had no time to come and tell you. Please forgive me. I will never break a promise to you again for as long as I live. I swear it."  
  
"Where's mama?" Marguerite finally asked, without looking up at him. She was pushing her spoon through the thick soup in front of her, which was barely touched.  
  
"Oh, she has a job painting in the Opera House now." He said with a smile. "Isn't that nice? Your mama and I work in the same place now. So now whenever I want to see you, I only have to find her in the building, and ask if I can come visit."  
  
She looked up at him from the corner of her eye, almost failing to hide the smile that crept into the corner of her mouth. Then, she looked back down at the soup. Moving his hand a bit more, he covered her fingertips. He smiled when she didn't pull away.  
  
"I was hoping to possibly bring you all out to supper. But it seems you've already eaten."  
  
The landlady was watching him with quiet eyes. She was a woman in her mid to late thirties, with long mahogany brown hair, and matching eyes. She wore an old stained dress of dark green that must have been made by the woman herself. She bounced Gerard on her lap to try and keep him busy, yet she paid more attention to Erik now. She was about four years older than Madeline. Erik glanced at her, and she colored beautifully.  
  
"Can we offer you something to eat?" She asked, motioning to the empty place opposite her. Erik smiled.  
  
"That's very kind of you." He replied. "I'd be delighted to join you. But only if Marguerite says it is all right." Anxious to ease her anger at him, he looked back at her, and reached up to gently touch her hair. He was finally rewarded when she turned and put her arms tightly around him, holding on tightly.  
  
"Monsieur Erik, I missed you!" She whispered softly into his ear. "Please don't go away again!"  
  
"No, ma Cherie." He promised, whispering back to her so that their conversation would be private. Feeling her arms so tightly wound about him, he closed his eyes in pleasure, and stroked her small back. "I don't plan on going away again. Not if you don't want me too." Gently, he pried himself away from her so he could look into her eyes. "Ma petite, how would you like to move away from here and leave close to the Opera House? Your mama and sister ad brother could live right down the street from me. We could see one another whenever we wished."  
  
"Really?" Her eyes lit up. "What place would we live in?" By now, even Fleur had pulled up close to him, trying to listen anxiously to them as their voices rose.  
  
"A nice apartment, where you could all have your own rooms. Your own beds." Erik smiled at her excitement. "Your mama said she will let me find a better place for the four of you to live."  
  
"Oh!" Marguerite laughed, and hugged him tightly again. Holding onto her, Erik stood up, and swung her playfully about the room. Then, she pushed herself up so that she could look into his face. "Will you be with us?"  
  
"Oh, I will be nearby." He promised. "It wouldn't be a very good idea for me to live *with* you. But I swear to live by you, and see you almost every single day."  
  
"Almost ever single day?" She repeated, putting a desperate emphasis on the word 'almost'. Erik chuckled.  
  
"I'm a very busy man, my dear." He explained softly. "I cannot be with you every moment, every day. Though I swear to do my best. All of my free time shall be spent with you."  
  
The landlady stood then, and moved over to the stove. Taking a bowl out of the cabinet above it, she quickly filled it with some of the fine smelling soup, and set a place for Erik between the twins. Standing up, he looked to her with a smile.  
  
"Thank you, Madam." He said sincerely, sitting himself. The twins quickly lowered themselves into their own seats again, and they began to eat quietly for a moment. Erik felt almost like he was part of a family sitting down to supper. The idea warmed his heart to no end. "This is delicious." He finally said, only to have the woman nod to him blandly, as she cooled of a piece of meat with her breath, and then gave it to Gerard, who chewed ravenously.  
  
"Monsieur Erik, may I please ask you something?" Marguerite finally broke another long bout of silence, and he looked to her, his eyes shining with affection. He nodded, and she smiled shyly. "I know you aren't, and will not be. You told me last night. But can I please call you papa?"  
  
Erik stared at her in shock for a long moment. He didn't even realize it when he dropped the spoon he was using into the bowl of soup, making some of the thick broth splatter out onto the table. He'd never imagined that she would ask such a thing of him. Not when she already knew he was never going to be her new father. He'd never thought a single soul in the world would call him father.  
  
"Yes." He managed, his voice thick with emotion. Slowly, he reached across to stroke her cheek. "Yes, of course you can."  
  
Marguerite smiled at him gladly, and then continued to eat. It seemed such a simple matter to her. It was astonishing that she should not find it so mind-blowing to call a near stranger her father. All Erik could do for a long time was stare at her. When he finally managed to move again, his soup was cold.  
  
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It was nearly midnight when he wandered idly towards his home beneath the Opera House. Enjoying the long walks he had often taken at night, he was taking a long route home through shabby neighborhoods and empty shop streets. The only people he saw in the alleys and on the sidewalks were men who were undoubtedly criminal drunk, and women who were quite obviously prostitutes. A few of them waved to him anxiously when he passed, as though trying to hail him over. Yet Erik would only glance at them with an attempt at a friendly smile, without letting his eyes wander over their skimpy clothes.  
  
He was no longer tempted by their forced and vulgar beauty. Although a great many of them were quite pretty, he simply could no longer be sorely tempted to reach out and touch them. No, there were better things in life than a tumble with a prostitute. There was love. And he knew, in the back of his mind, that nothing would ever equal making love, as apposed to rolling around in the hay with a stranger who meant nothing to him.  
  
It was just a pity that the only person he would ever love would be Christine. He was quite certain of that. Even when he looked at her as a friend, he knew his heart had unshakable foundations of solid love for her. Nothing would ever change that. When Christine married the Vicomte, it was sure to splinter his heart all over again, as it had been splintered the night she kissed him and his life changed for what seemed to be the better. Yet for her happiness, Erik was willing to go an entire lifetime without knowing her love. He just wanted to see her happy.  
  
Now, he had other things to look forward to. He had a career that obviously was going to take the city by surprise. He had two beautiful little girls who seemed totally taken by him. He loved them both dearly as well. Being addressed as Papa by Marguerite was something he would never wish to give up for a hundred thousand Christine's. It was as simple as that. He adored the children. He'd never abandon them. He had a life with them as the friend and father figure they would need as they grew up. The one that would protect them, and scrutinize their suitors when they grew old enough to be courted. The idea almost made him laugh.  
  
For once in his long and otherwise miserable life, Erik was more than merely content with his life. He was pleased with it. 


	10. Giving In

A/N: You're lucky today! I've nothing better to do, and because the site is down for 9/11, I can't spend the day reading all of YOUR beautiful works of fiction. So my imagination has been forced to re-inspire itself!  
  
This is probably the longest continuing scene I've ever written for this story!  
  
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Chapter 10: Giving In  
  
"Erik . . . your mind is in the clouds today!" Christine laughed softly as she looked at her friend and tutor.  
  
It was a week since Marguerite had asked Erik if she might address him as though he were her father. Since then, he'd been so busy, he often became unforgivably exhausted. When he wasn't at the Opera rehearsing, he was either below trying to continue picking up his house, or with the twins. If he was not doing either of those things, he was out apartment hunting for a reasonably priced residence that would be able to fit a family of four (maybe even five if Madeline ever remarried), haunting the Opera House so that he would not entirely lose his identity as the Opera Ghost, or tutoring Christine and others who asked for his help in their roles. Rarely did he sleep more than three hours a night.  
  
Now, Erik had never been one who needed a great deal of sleep. During the building of the Opera House, he'd often spent eighteen hours at the work site. Yet he'd rarely thought about it back then. He had been almost totally turned off emotionally to the world around him. Yet now there were so many things to do all at once. So many things and people he had to take care of. All sorts of things vied for his attention, and he found it nearly impossible to keep up. Now, as Christine stood there smiling at him, he snapped out of a dazed reverie, and looked up into her beautiful face.  
  
"I'm sorry, Cherie." He offered softly. "My mind is not in the clouds, I assure you. I am just quite tired right now. Perhaps this could wait until after rehearsals?"  
  
"Oh, but you promised Marguerite you'd see her directly afterwards." She protested gently. He had been confiding in her everything he felt as of late. Well . . . almost everything. Not once did he dare to bring up his love for her, and ruin the wonderful friendship they were building. Once, he'd even dared to accept an invitation to dinner she'd given him. It had been at Raoul's home, and had actually been quite pleasant. Erik would have gone so far as to admit he'd enjoyed himself, had it not been for the boring and trivial conversations that Raoul continued to attempt strike up with him. "Erik, it's quite all right if you can't do this today. If ever you don't feel up to it, I'll understand perfectly."  
  
"What?" He asked, smiling at her gently, teasingly. "And lose the perfectly wicked chance to be alone with you? Never, my dear!"  
  
Christine laughed with him, color suffusing her cheeks. He'd found out recently that he liked to watch women blush. It was one of the few things that could mean just about anything. Tears were like blushes. They could appear when one felt sorrow, joy, frustration, anger, and maybe even nothing at all. He watched her until the flush of her cheeks paled a little, and then looked down at the score to 'Don Giovanni'.  
  
"The first performance is in one more week." He said softly, his mind seeming to wander. He really must be tired, he thought to himself. He couldn't even concentrate on his piano playing. "Everyone is doing well. I just don't know what I'm going to do once I am being gawked at once more by crowds of people." He shuddered.  
  
"Oh, Erik." Christine hurried around the piano to sit beside him on the small bench he occupied. Gently, her arms slipped about him. He'd told her about the time in the cage at the gypsy camp. Though he didn't even know, to this moment, why he'd told her his most horrible secrets. The ones he'd wanted to keep hidden and forgotten forever. "They will love you! They will love your voice and your charm just as much as I do! You need not let it make you feel claustrophobic. Everything will turn out all right. It isn't the same, Erik. It isn't the same at all!"  
  
Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily, and nodded. However close they had become being friends, he had rarely ever gotten much closer to her than offering her an arm when they walked about. Ever since the first time he'd taught her after rehearsals, and nearly lost control of all of his senses, he'd not dared to get too close. Time was starting to heal his control once more. Yet he would never be fully able to control himself where Christine was concerned. Never. Feeling her body so close to his was not only a warm comfort, but a quiet torture. Slowly, he put an arm around her waist, hugging her gently.  
  
"Cherie . . . perhaps Monsieur Reyer would not object if I did not attend the first half of rehearsal this morning." He was surprised at his own words. Yet he was simply that exhausted. He'd never been so tired his entire life. Not even as a child, when he had been drugged with laudanum. Not even in his house beneath the lake, after his multiple heart attacks. "I believe I should try and get a bit of rest before I encounter my 'daughters' this evening."  
  
"It *is* difficult dealing with children, isn't it?" She smiled tenderly. "They are so energetic. It is hard to keep up with them all of the time. You've overworked yourself, Erik. Go home and sleep. I will tell Monsieur Reyer that you will come back to rehearsals tomorrow."  
  
"No, I will not be out all day." He protested immediately, his voice stern. "I have to be there for the rehearsal of Giovanni's damnation. It seems to fall apart if I'm not in the middle of it all."  
  
That was quite true. Even Christine had to admit it. The day before, when he had merely gone out for a moment to find a glass of water for himself, so that his throat would not dry up, the men who played the Commendatore and Leporello had seemed totally unable to sing their roles. It seemed that Erik's voice gave the production the strength it had always needed. When he'd leaped back into his role, everything had pulled itself back together. Erik was just as much a keystone to the success of the production as the character he played.  
  
"Go to your dressing room and rest." Christine urged gently, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Erik thought almost irritably that she was acting like a mother to him in that moment. "We cannot have our star dying of exhaustion before his debut!"  
  
He smiled at that finally, and turned to lean his forehead against hers. Despite how torturous her closeness could be, he would never deny how comfortable he felt at the same time. It was as though he belonged so close to her. He was still convinced that he would never, for as long as he lived, meet another woman with whom he could love so ravenously.  
  
"All right, ma Cherie." He whispered. "Go on. I promise to relax."  
  
Christine stood and left the practice room. For a few moments, Erik sat fiddling with the keys, tinkering with the tune she'd been working on. Even his fingers barely wanted to cooperate with him! Erik felt a wall of fury come hurtling into him from behind, taking him off guard. How dare his body do this to him! If he could cope with exhaustion when he was in the demonic body of an old man, he most certainly ought to be able to cope with it now! Slamming the lid shut on the piano, he hissed as his thumb uncharacteristically got in the way, and was momentarily crushed. Erik stood with a grimace of pain, and he swore vilely.  
  
"Merde!" He sighed, whirling in his anger, as he had nowhere to vent it. "Damnation!" Turning, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so that the bang of it closing echoed noisily down the hallway. He was sure that anyone on stage the next floor down must have heard him. With his hands clenched into fists, he headed for his dressing room, stalking the hallways as only the Phantom could.  
  
It was a great misfortune on Christine's part that she should chose that moment to come back out of her dressing room to find out what the noise was all about. She stood in the doorway of her room, looking at Erik as he came stalking towards her. She seemed shocked, and perhaps even a little bit afraid. She knew how disastrous his temper could be.  
  
"Erik?" She asked softly in concern. He stopped moving for a long moment, and simply stared at her. His eyes bored into her for a long minute. For once when he looked at her, he let himself feel his attraction to her. He let himself show it in his gaze. He was too angry to hide it. He would rather let her see how he still loved and desired her, than continue on his rampage and possibly do her bodily harm.  
  
"Go back into your room, Christine." He said in a strained voice. It was the first time in many days since he had called her by her name when they were alone. "You might even want to lock your door."  
  
She almost laughed. Perhaps she would have, if the situation had not seemed so dire.  
  
"Would that do any good, Erik?" She asked. "There is still the mirror."  
  
"Don't remind me!" He spat, and turned to enter his own room. Yet Christine was anxious to calm him, and came towards him. He could see her coming from the corner of his eye, and held up a hand to halt her where she stood. Not once in his entire life had he even wanted to hurt a lady. Now, his exhaustion, having formed into this blinding fury, was threatening to make him hurt the first lady he'd ever cared about. "Stay away, Christine! I mean it! Stay away!"  
  
"Erik . . ." She tried to sooth. "Calm down. It's all right. I'll get you some tea, and then you can rest. All right? Just . . . calm down."  
  
He stood there a long moment, his dressing room door standing open before him. He stared into the slightly cramped room that wasn't any better than those the less popular singers had to share. As all the dressing rooms did, it had a divan. Perhaps he would just rest his head there, instead of traveling all the way down to his home. He was too tired to make it that far. He was almost certain of it now, as the fury began to finally dwindle. The rage had only exhausted him more!  
  
"I'm all right, Christine." He finally whispered, closing his eyes. "Go on back to your room now. I'm not the best person to be around right now."  
  
She did not go back to her room as he implored. Every single defense he had was down, and he did not want her to know that. Every single chain of restraint he had on every single one of emotions was broken because of his exhaustion. Yet Christine couldn't have known that. She couldn't possibly have ever guessed. Slowly, she made her way further down the hallway to stand beside him.  
  
"Do you want me to get you that tea?" She offered again gently, putting a hand on his arm. Erik looked down at her hand, and she nearly drew away. Yet then her hand became a bit more firmly. Oh, she had no plan on going away. She was playing a game with the devil himself, and she had no idea. Slowly, Erik turned so that he faced her squarely, and then loosed his fists at his sides. Lifting them, he gently cupped her face between his palms, brushing his thumbs alone the almost invisible lines under her eyes. The lines of smiles and laughter. Lines he had not had until the last two weeks.  
  
"No." He whispered softly, staying still for a long moment. He wasn't certain what his intentions were. All he knew was that he wasn't about to hurt her. He'd never let any harm come to his beloved Christine. Most especially not by his own hand. Slowly, he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, and he watched her eyes close gently. That was all he needed. That simple moment of acquiescence. He barely paused from pulling his lips away from her forehead before he lowered them onto her own mouth. Yet just before their lips met, he managed a choked whisper. "Forgive me."  
  
He put his arms tightly around her when he kissed her, pulling her hard against him. He was not going to harm her. He was not going to force her to do anything. He just had to hold onto her. He just had to kiss her. Just this once. Just one more time in his entire lifetime. Even if she hated him afterwards. Things would be so much easier if she hated him. However heartbreaking her rejection would be, he would not feel the same amount of torture he felt at her extreme closeness.  
  
Yet she didn't seem angry. She didn't even protest. Gently, her hands came up to cover his, as he still had her face between his palms. Then, she gently put her arms around his shoulders, and gently held on. The kiss ran deep through both of them, but Christine was obviously not trying to return it as he was trying to give it. She was letting him kiss her. She was letting him vent out all of his anger, frustration, and weariness. Never could he have asked for a greater gift than what she'd given him already. Yet already he was receiving one.  
  
Trembling, he pulled away, falling back against the doorframe of his dressing room. Christine held her hands up a moment longer than needed as she watched him, and then lowered her hands to her sides. She seemed stunned. He was just as stunned. They must have stood their kissing for at least five minutes. The things he'd nearly done . . . and she had allowed him. She hadn't fought, despite her love and engagement to Raoul. Somehow, he knew she would have sacrificed everything but her infidelity, in order to help Erik as she just had. Swallowing thickly, he looked away.  
  
"Erik, I. . ."  
  
"Christine . . ."  
  
He looked back at her when the both spoke at once. Then, Christine managed to laugh softly, to smile at him sincerely. He wanted for all the world to smile at her in return. Maybe then it would seem the tense moment would release itself from him. Yet he could not smile. Not much at least. He attempted to, and he managed it just a little bit. Then, slowly, he turned and walked into his room, closing the door firmly behind him. It was a good thing Christine did not try to follow him this time. After that stunning moment, he did not know what he was capable of doing - or not doing. With a heavy sigh, he collapsed onto the divan in the center of his dressing room, and was fast asleep before his head nestled itself comfortably on the arm of the sofa. 


	11. A House with a Picket Fence

A/N: If the website keeps this up, I'll be done with the story before I get a chance to upload! Anyhow, how did you like chapter ten? Enough suspense for you????  
  
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Chapter 11: A House with a Picket Fence  
  
It was hours later before Erik woke to the sound of insistent soft knocking at his dressing room door. With a slight moan, he began rolling over onto his stomach before the edge of the divan stopped his progress. Usually when he woke, he was immediately alert. Right now, he was somewhere between being oblivious and totally aware of his surroundings. He managed to grab a hold of the edge of the divan before he went falling over the side, and then opened his eyes. He realized that it was quite a bit warmer in the room than it had been early that morning, and he opened his eyes to find someone had come into his room during the day, and covered him with a woven blanket of thick, warm wool.  
  
"Christine. . ." He murmured to himself with a half-smile, knowing she was the only person who would have thought of his comfort like that. When the incessant knocking did not stop at his door, he growled a moment, and then stood up. "All right already! Who is it?"  
  
"It's me, Erik."  
  
"Christine. . ." He murmured again, shaking his head to clear his mind of the rest of his sleep. Moving to the door, he quickly jerked it open to look out at her. She was smiling up at him brightly, a shawl wrapped about her shoulders. "What time is it?"  
  
"It's nearly five o'clock, Erik." She said, making him take in a sharp breath. She giggled at his reaction. "I know you said you wanted to be there for the second half of rehearsals. But when I came to check in on you . . . you were sleeping so soundly, it would have been a pity to wake you. You desperately needed the sleep. I'm just here to wake you now, because I know you wouldn't want to keep the twins waiting."  
  
Erik brought a hand up to rub at his eyes impatiently. Five o'clock! That was a whole day wasted! Yet he couldn't be upset at Christine for letting him sleep. She was right. He had needed the solid nine hours he'd gotten.  
  
"Thank you, Cherie. . ." He sighed softly. "I do need to get going. I think you should come here extra early tomorrow. We need to catch up on a bit of lost time."  
  
"I can't tomorrow, Erik." She replied quietly. "I'm very sorry. However much I adore your help and your lessons . . . Raoul wants me home until the latest possible moment tomorrow. I can't imagine why. I guess he plans on stopping by."  
  
"All right." He turned, reaching out for his fedora, which he'd decided to wear that morning instead of the newer hats. "Might I escort you outside? I'll call you a cab."  
  
"Thank you very much, Erik." She said genuinely. They walked along the corridors together in silence. Then, Erik remembered how he had kissed her earlier that day. She hadn't pulled away, but had not encouraged him either. She wondered why such a virtuous young woman would let any man who was not her beloved kiss her. Then again, she had kissed him once. . . but that had been a bribe to save Raoul's life. He would never forget that.  
  
"I am very sorry for my behavior this morning, my dear." He finally managed to murmur as they stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight. Above their heads, the sky was beginning to turn a soft magenta, with swirls of brilliant orange and yellow where the light reflected off the clouds. "It is totally inexcusable."  
  
"Don't you dare apologize, Erik." She scolded. "It is perfectly understandable. I don't suppose you stopped for one second to think I might have been even remotely flattered? It could have been anyone, but it was me."  
  
"I don't recall you feeling flattered about my attentions three months ago." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. But he was in quite a good mood, and his tone was otherwise jovial. Christine smiled, shaking her head as he hailed a carriage for her. He helped her in, and then kissed her hand. "Just the same, I am never going to do such a thing again. I promise you."  
  
"See you in rehearsal, Erik."  
  
It was then he noticed that his name was almost always the last word she spoke. Yet it wasn't all that odd. Perhaps she simply found it the simplest way to end her sentences. Maybe she liked the sound of his name. He knew that he liked it. Especially coming from her lips. He waved as the carriage pulled away, and then turned to hail his own cab.  
  
"Monsieur Erik! Wait!"  
  
Sighing, he turned to look back up at the Opera House. Coming from the front doors was Madeline, wearing her battered old dress from her times of poverty, still covered in paint from her days work. She could often look ridiculous when her cheeks were smudged with paint. Especially a color that stood out, like bright red or pale blue. Yet today she came out surprisingly clean-faced. It was her dress that had been tortured.  
  
"Madame, I have told you a dozen times not to call me Monsieur." He offered her a hand of greeting as she approached, and she slipped her small fingers into his palm. He leaned down in a slightly formal bow, and then continued to hail his carriage.  
  
"I'm sorry, Erik." She laughed softly. "I just knew that calling you Monsieur would catch your attention! Are you going to see the Marguerite and Fleur now?"  
  
"Yes." He admitted softly. "Would you like a ride?"  
  
"Very much. I'm far too tired to walk." A cab pulled up to the sidewalk, and he helped her into the buggy, climbing in to sit across from her. It was a soft, cool evening, and the night time breezes were already starting. It would be winter in a few more weeks. He thought to himself that he had to find a proper home for Madeline and her family before then. That way he would feel reassured in their health and safety.  
  
"How do you like your new job, then?" He finally broke the silence that had grown between them, and she smiled up at him happily.  
  
"I couldn't be more pleased!" She said enthusiastically. "Thank you so much, again, for everything you've done. I can't imagine what would have happened had you not come along. I was a bit behind on my rent. The landlady probably would've put us all out by now."  
  
"Oh, she doesn't seem like such a rough woman." Erik protested. "I'm sure she wouldn't have put you out just like that. She would've given you time to find a place you could better afford. Surely."  
  
"Perhaps." Madeline agreed distractedly. "So . . . Marguerite keeps telling me that you have this big surprise in store for them tonight. Would you mind letting me in on it?"  
  
"It's nothing so grand." He insisted. "I am going to take them to a bit of supper, and then . . . go apartment hunting with them. I thought they'd like to have an idea of the type of place they'll be living in." He looked at her for a long moment. " . . . Would you care to join us? You do, after all, have every say in the place you're going to make your new home."  
  
She looked back at him for a long moment. They still hadn't gotten over their awkward acquaintance to becoming good friends. It was odd. Both found the other rather attractive, but certainly weren't interested in the other as a possible 'mate'. Madeline thought that Erik was far too young for her. Erik often chuckled when he would realize that. If only she knew how old he truly was!  
  
"Here we are." He finally said softly, climbing down from the halted carriage to help her out. As he paid the cabby, he asked the man to wait, and then turned to follow Madeline up the stairs to her apartment door. Immediately, it swung open, and he found himself surrounded by pairs of arms. Even little Gerard, who was feeling extremely well since his bout of stomach aches, had toddled out onto the porch to hug his leg anxiously. Laughter of every pitch filled his ears, and it was one of the most beauteous sounds in the entire universe. Ah, the laughter of children!  
  
"Papa!" Marguerite greeted eagerly, her hands clawing in the air to try and get him to pick her up. Fleur was doing the same, and Gerard simply clutched at Erik's pants leg before Madeline finally scooped him up into her arms. She was smiling sadly, and he understood guiltily that it was because she probably felt thrown over for him.  
  
"Ah, ma petite angels!" He laughed, crouching down to hug either twin tightly. He kissed their cheeks and their hair, and they gave him hugs and kisses in return. Then, he stood up, urging them towards Madeline. They greeted their mother in obedience to his silent urging, and then turned right back around to tackle him.  
  
"Papa, what's this surprise going to be?" Marguerite insisted pleadingly. "We've been waiting all afternoon!"  
  
"I know, and you will soon find out." He promised. "Madeline. Would you like to bring your son with us, or leave him here with the landlady?"  
  
"I'll bring him, if it wouldn't bother you too much." She replied, her voice crisp over the eager sounds of her children. Nodding, Erik turned to start heading downstairs, then paused to ruffle the hair on Gerard's tiny head. The boy giggled and reached up to catch his fingers, but missed. Then, laughing, Erik led everyone back down into the carriage.  
  
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"I can't remember the last time I've had so much to eat." Madeline said quietly, leaning back on the cushioned seat of a fine little restaurant. Erik had known she would like the place, as undoubtedly it let her reminisce about her past as a wealthier young woman. The food was also delicious, and the other patrons and employees tolerated the presence of small children. "Erik, you spoil every one of us far too much." With this she looked down at her son, who was wearing a little toddlers tuxedo. It was one of the only new things Madeline had ever gotten him. Because she knew he would simply grow out of such fine clothes before long.  
  
"I don't mind spoiling you." He laughed quietly, watching the little girls as they gorged themselves on a la mode. He remembered having always liked that particular desert the best. The hot apple pie, mixed with the taste and texture of freezing cold vanilla ice cream. . . it was something to experience. "Before you came along, the only person in the world I had to spoil was my cat. You should see her diamond collar."  
  
He, of course, did not bother to tell them that he had stolen the mentioned collar from the Shah of Persia. That would be giving them too much information about his past. Information he was not going to give anyone. Perhaps not even Christine. She knew enough of his dark past as it was.  
  
"Was this the surprise, Papa?" Marguerite piped up, looking up at him with a dirty little face that was sprinkled with just about everything she'd eaten that evening. In fact, Erik and Madeline were the only ones who didn't look the same way. Laughing, he picked up a napkin and reached across the table to wipe their angelic faces clean.  
  
"No, ma petite. This is not all of the surprise." He said quietly.  
  
"You mean there's even *more*?" She cried out in delight, and Madeline glanced around quickly to make sure no one overly disapproved of the noise they were making. Erik laughed again, and then waved over their waiter. The man brought them the check, and Erik paid for their supper where he sat.  
  
"There is a little bit more, yes." He finally told everyone. "Shall we go? I want you all to see something." With that he winked at Madeline, and she looked at him in confusion. Seeing the look on her face, he laughed once more. Never had he laughed so much in his entire life. It was a sound and sensation he very much liked. It was so much better than the feeling of tears, unless they were tears of joy and happiness.  
  
They all made their way outside, where Erik once again called for a carriage. This one was an open air carriage, as the children seemed to like that kind the best. And tonight was an exceptional night for them. They were able to look up at the stars as they rode through the city. The night was so clear and just the perfect temperature. Madeline and Marguerite spent the ride trying to pry Erik's secrets from him about where they were going. But he refused to say anything the entire way there.  
  
Soon, they were pulling up in front of a beautiful town house only a block away from the Opera House. It had a lush, although small, lawn, and a picket fence all the way about it. The siding was a pale shade of blue, although it looked quite a dingy gray in the light of the night. It was two and a half stories tall (including an attic) and looked as though it had some twelve odd rooms in it. Most of the windows were lighted from the inside, signaling that someone had recently been there. As they climbed down from the carriage, everyone stared up at it in awe. Only Erik remained perfectly composed as he moved ahead of them to open the gate in front of the walk way, and head up to a wrap-around porch, up the sturdy wooden stairs, and to a beautiful door of dark maroon. When he realized he was still alone, he turned to smile at them on the sidewalk.  
  
"Well then?" He called teasingly. "Don't just stand there! This is your home!"  
  
Everyone gasped and squealed with shock and delight. The twins bolted up the front walk, almost tripping on the two steps that led to the porch. Erik drew a key out of his cloak pocket, and then opened the front door for them. Madeline followed the children more slowly, following with her little son in her arms.  
  
"Erik . . . are you serious?" She asked nervously. "This place is enormous!"  
  
"I am deadly serious, Madeline." He replied simply, pushing the front door open. Without even waiting, the children hurried in. As it was before mentioned, many rooms already had light in them. "I made arrangements so that someone would be here no more than twelve minutes before us, so that you could see it all in the light. Yet of course I asked them to leave before we arrived. I did not want them intruding on your discovery."  
  
"But it must have cost you a fortune!" She almost reluctantly stepped into the front hallway to see a long staircase to the right of the space, leading up to the second story.  
  
"Not as much as you might think." Erik replied gently, following her in, and closing the door behind him. "The place is already fully furnished, except for drapes, pillows, blankets, and the like. I thought you might wish to select those items. There are five bedrooms. . . I thought you might like to have a guest room . . . a library and study/living room/salon downstairs. A kitchen and dining room. Upstairs there is a large bathroom. Then there is the attic. Oh, I almost forgot to mention that there is also a pantry. In the back, there is a deck leading off of the master bedroom."  
  
"How did you manage this?" Madeline asked, her voice nearly shrill. Madeline and Fleur were running about from room to room, laughing excitedly. Finally, Madeline put Gerard down, and let his sisters drag him upstairs with them. Erik smiled at her fondly.  
  
"Madeline, I have my ways." He insisted. "That is all you need to know. Besides . . . I do have something small to ask of you in return."  
  
She looked up at him in bewilderment.  
  
"I would like to be able to stay in your guest room . . . You see my place is no longer adequate. I need better lodgings. If you don't mind hearing music here as well as at work - for you see I am a composer just as much as I am a singer - I would very much like to live here with your family. It's the children . . . you see. Every moment I am away from them is . . ."  
  
"You're speaking like a father now." She whispered. "Is that truly all you want from me in return? You don't ask for rent, or anything of that sort?"  
  
"If it would make you feel more at ease to pay me rent, Madeline, then by all means . . . But I will never require it of you. Not now, and not ever. I will never give you the boot because you cannot afford to pay me rent. I will never hurt you or your children."  
  
"I still don't understand how or why, Erik." She whispered, tears standing in her eyes. "But thank you . . . this is so much more than we would ever have expected . . . so much more!"  
  
On instinct, he reached out and gently pulled her into his arms, gently stroking her hair and making soft noises to sooth her. He understood that she was crying out of joy and gratitude. No doubt she was overwhelmed with all that was happening. He couldn't say he blamed her.  
  
When he'd found the house at such an astonishingly cheap price, he'd thanked his lucky stars above. He knew that they were selling it so cheap because the family who had once owned it was anxious to be rid of the terrible memories of a sudden death which had occurred there, and they hadn't cared about price. Yet the fact that someone had died there meant nothing to him. He had caused enough death in his life to not be phased in the least. He was only happy to be doing this for the family he thought deserved everything that he had to give, and more. He wanted Marguerite and Fleur, and Gerard, to have the best of the world. He was going to give that to them, no matter what the price!  
  
"Come . . . let me show you around, Madeline. Tonight, while you rest here, I will go and settle matters with your landlady. I will also see to it that all your personal possessions are packed and brought to you here by morning." 


	12. Opening Night

A/N The lyrics at the end of this chapter are from a song I sang in chorus a couple of years back. I don't know when it came out, but I'm pretty sure it came out in the last fifty years or so. Oh well!!!! Not to mention I might have messed up lyrics, and I know I've missed some!  
  
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Chapter 12: Opening Night  
  
Erik still had no idea what had possessed him, in the few minutes Madeline was in such shock at receiving such a beautiful new home, that made him ask her if she'd let him stay in the house with them. Perhaps it was simply because he was tired of living in the worlds of darkness beneath the Opera House. Because he was finally desperate to live in the normal house he'd always dreamed about. The house where he'd always wanted to share with his own family. With Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard, it seemed being able to stay in the house with them had made that dream come true. The only thing he was missing was a beloved wife. Even though there were no real emotional ties between he and Madeline, it seemed possible for him to picture her in that role, even if it wasn't true. He had his family.  
  
It was a simple matter for Erik to move what was left of his belongings into the home only a block away from the Opera House. In the dead of night, he packed everything from his mothers' room, and a few other things left from his music room, and the Louise Philippe room, and brought them to the house where he was going to live with his new family of absolutely charming women. He gave the bedroom set that had belonged to his mother to Madeline, knowing it was in far better shape than the one left in the house by its' previous owners. He arranged his smaller bedroom so that everything he owned had its' place.  
  
Then, with a desk in the library with all of his books, he began spending his time away from rehearsals re-writing all of the music that had been destroyed by the mob. It was going to be a hefty job, but knew he was perfectly able to handle it. Marguerite and Fleur often tried to tear him away from the task he'd taken it upon himself to complete, but they were happy to just sit and play by themselves in the room if he was concentrating too hard on his music to play with them. In a short amount of time, their life had set into an incredibly comfortable rut.  
  
Every night, Madeline and Erik went upstairs together in order to tuck the twins into bed in their separate rooms. Often times, when they awoke the next morning, they would be found in the same bed, or together in Madeline's bed. Apparently, the move to the larger home was difficult for them to get used to. All of them had always slept in the same bed in the one room apartment he'd taken them from. Erik wasn't overly worried about their behavior by any means. Not until their behavior started disturbing *his* sleep.  
  
The night before 'Don Giovanni' was to open, Erik woke from a sound sleep filled with soft dreams of Christine and him singing together, by a pair of small hands shaking at his shoulder roughly. It rocked his body as he lay on his side, and then another set of hands was shaking his legs. He almost fell off the edge of the bed from the infernal rocking.  
  
"Papa, we can't sleep." Marguerite's little voice reached him as though it came a great distance away. With a groan, Erik rolled onto his back, opening his eyes to realize he'd almost rolled over right onto them. Two pairs of beautiful innocent eyes gazed down at him. "Can we stay tonight with you?"  
  
"Doesn't your Mama usually take you into her bed?" He asked wearily. He needed a good nights sleep if he was going to get through the extra hard day and following night. The girls glanced at each other, then back at him sadly.  
  
"She locked her door." Marguerite breathed, as though the idea of being locked out had devastated her. With a sigh, Erik glanced at his bed. Luckily, it was a good queen sized bed which would fit the three of them.  
  
"All right . . . " He sighed. "Climb in." Then moved down to the foot of the bed so that he could throw down the covers, and then they came to snuggled against him, sandwiching him onto the center of the mattress. They helped him pull the covers back up over them, and then each rested a head on his shoulder. He put his arms around them gently, and simply knew that come morning, his arms would be all pins and needles.  
  
"Papa . . ."  
  
"Quiet, Cherie." He urged pleadingly. "We need to get some sleep, all right? Tomorrow is a very busy day for me. I want to get good sleep."  
  
"Can't you sing to us a little bit?" Marguerite entreated. "It helps us sleep. Like you do when you tuck us in?"  
  
Closing his eyes tightly, Erik simply began to hum. He hummed for what must have been a half hour, until finally his very own singing lulled him to sleep, and the room was filled with sublime silence. The little ones were curled up against him endearingly, one with a hand over Erik's heard, the other sucking on her two middle fingers.  
  
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"Oh . . . not this again! Where's Lucille? . . .Christine? Where's *Erik*?" Monsieur Reyer certainly was in a frantic mood. It was the morning before opening night, and everything seemed to suddenly be falling apart. People were late, costumes didn't fit properly, and voices were cracking left and right. Not to mention that the leading role in their entire opera was late for rehearsals - for the first time ever!  
  
"I don't know, Monsieur." Christine was replying as a stage hand - it happened to be Madeline - tightened the lacings on her dress as she waiting for everything to start settling down. "This is terribly unlike him. I'm sure he has a good excuse for being late."  
  
"I could care less!" Monsieur Reyer exclaimed. "These people need their voices warmed up, and I have enough problems to deal with as it is!"  
  
"Here I am, Monsieur Reyer!"  
  
Erik came running down the isles of the theatre seats, looking a little bit tired, and most definitely winded. But his clothes were immaculate as always, and he came up onto the stage with his usual unending grace. Christine smiled at him warmly as he glanced in her direction, and then turned to finish getting her costume and wig together.  
  
"Erik, Thank God!" Monsieur Reyer sighed heavily. "Please, take them into the practice room and get them warmed up! I have far too much to do in the next hour, and that's the only time I can spare of it!"  
  
"Don't worry about a thing, Monsieur Reyer." Erik said gently, trying to calm the man down a bit. "Everything is going to go smoothly tonight. Everyone has been perfect thus far. Nothing is going to change that within these few hours."  
  
"Aren't you even nervous about your debut?" The choral instructor asked, looking at Erik with astonished eyes. Erik simply chuckled.  
  
"Should I be?" He asked. Then, he turned and motioned for those Monsieur Reyer had indicated to follow him into the nearest practice room. Christine followed, quickly catching up to his side.  
  
"What happened this morning?" She whispered to him as they moved down the corridor. He shook his head, sighing for a long moment.  
  
"I hadn't realized that two little girls could be so heavy when they were fast asleep across your belly." He murmured. "They decided that they couldn't sleep unless they came into my bed last night and had me sing them back to sleep."  
  
"Oh, lord, Erik!" Christine giggled. "You're taking this father routine far too seriously!"  
  
"I don't believe that I am." He said defensively, but good-naturedly. Then, he opened the practice room door, walked over to the piano, and began warm ups without a single hesitation. It took a moment for everyone to get situated and start singing along with him.  
  
Erik winced almost immediately. Monsieur Reyer had been right. These people needed help this morning! Sighing, he simply shook his head, and took them through a forty-five minutes worth of warm up exercises until they were perfectly pitched once more.  
  
"Those who have sore throats must drink plenty of tea." He instructed. "Tea with honey, but only a tiny bit of it. It will help your voices, unless you take too much. After rehearsal, take tea with lemon. Then I want you to again drink tea with honey before warm ups tonight. After the performance, more tea with lemon. Do you understand?"  
  
Everyone nodded. Satisfied, Erik stood from the piano and simply walked away from them to hurry to his dressing room and get into costume. It was barely eight o'clock in the morning. Usually rehearsals didn't start until ten or so. Yet today was going to be hectic and busy. It always was, the day before a performance.  
  
"Erik?" A knock came at the dressing room door, just as he was straightening out his costume. "Monsieur Reyer wants to talk to you on stage."  
  
"All right." He called out. "Thank you, Christine."  
  
Looking at himself in the mirror, he huffed out a weary sigh.  
  
"How did you ever get involved in all this to begin with, old man?" He asked himself mockingly. The answer, of course, was a kiss. A kiss was what had started it all. Every time that answer came to his mind, his mouth began to tingle as though Christine's lips were still pressed to his. Yet he was finally starting to get over just a little bit of the heartache he always felt when thinking of her with the Vicomte.  
  
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"They love you, Erik! I knew they would!"  
  
He stood staring out beyond the brightness of the staging lights that blinded the cast through most of the performance. The crowd was deafening him with applause and cheers. They had been for several minutes. Behind him, much of the cast was applauding and cheering for him as well, along with many of the stage hands and the orchestra. The cast behind him on stage was stomping there feet, shaking the planks under him. He didn't know how to react to such admiration. It was the first time he'd ever been acknowledge for his talent with music, and that alone. For what had to have been the twelfth time, he bowed to the crowd before him humbly. He then stepped back, reaching out insistently for the hands of Christine and Monsieur Jacques Lefeúre - the man who had played Leporello -- so that they would join him in one final bow. They took his hands easily enough, bowing with him several times before the curtain finally closed before them, blocking out all the light and most of the sound beyond.  
  
Christine turned immediately, throwing her arms around Erik's shoulders excitedly. There were tears in her eyes. Erik didn't realize it, but he himself was having a bit of trouble seeing for the same reasons. Yet he wasn't openly crying. He had too much will power to do that. He squeezed her against him tightly in an equally impassioned hug, kissing her cheeks and then giving her a very quick but sincere little kiss of affection on the mouth.  
  
"I knew they would love you!" She whispered into his ear fiercely. "I knew they would love you just as much as I do!"  
  
Erik drew back, staring at her with mildly shocked eyes. He saw a blush add itself to the heat that infused her cheeks, and then laughed, touching her face lightly. She blushed more, and then shook her head, reaching up as though to slap him playfully. Yet she didn't even touch him.  
  
"Don't give me that look! You knew what I meant!"  
  
"Did I?" He asked saucily, thumbing her under the chin so that he lifted it quickly in a teasing gesture. "Careful what you say, Cherie."  
  
She laughed, and he turned to congratulate Jacques with equal excitement.  
  
"You stole the ladies hearts tonight with that delightful character." He said admirably. Jacques laughed, shaking his head.  
  
"No, no, no . . ." He insisted. "You yourself will have your fair share of admirers after tonight! I bet your room will soon be filled with invitations when you get there."  
  
"Possibly." He admitted. It wasn't so unusual for women to send invitations of all sorts to the male opera stars they admired. Men did it do the Prima Donnas and Prima Ballerina's. Why shouldn't women send men tokens of affection? "I'll see you in the morning, Jacques."  
  
Turning, he headed off stage and towards his dressing room. He found it odd that very few people that had nothing to do with the production were about. Usually there were swarms of opera fans attempting to reach the dressing rooms. When Christine caught up to him from on stage, she leaned up to whisper into his ear as though she knew some juicy gossip.  
  
"They had to lock down this wing of the Opera House." She whispered. "Apparently . . . your voice has made these people go mad! They're swarming the back stage doors!"  
  
Erik frowned a bit, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of some people. For Heaven's sake! It was only a singing voice! Certainly, it was a very good singing voice, but there was no need to trample the Opera House to get a hold of him. He certainly didn't want to leave the usual way if he had to walk through that.  
  
"Monsieur Erik! Monsieur Erik - wait a moment!"  
  
Turning, he and Christine watched as Meg Giry came running towards them eagerly, still in her ballet costume, her hair let mostly loose except for a ribbon that gathered some of the long strands back from the her temples. Her soft shoes made light slaps against the floor under the pounding of her ungraceful run.  
  
"I have something for you that someone asked me to bring to you!"  
  
"Oh . . ." Was all he said, accepting the envelope that Meg handed to him. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry. Thank you very much."  
  
He then turned without any further niceties, and moved into his room. Christine stared after him for a long moment, as though she wanted to follow. But Meg was already talking her ear off excitedly. When Erik closed the door to his room behind him, she sighed and turned to smile at Meg happily, abruptly becoming just as excited as the slightly older girl. In his room, Erik rubbed at his temples briefly to calm himself from the exhilaration before tearing open the envelope, and unfolding the sheet of paper inside.  
  
Dear Monsieur Génie,  
  
I greatly admired your talent tonight. You have one of the greatest voices that I have ever heard. Congratulations on your success tonight.  
  
I have heard my share of voices, Monsieur, and I find you to have the greatest in the world. I am a patron of the Opera House, and therefore have contacts with much of the staff. When speaking to Monsieur Reyer briefly during tonight's intermission, he mentioned that you often helped him in being a vocal coach to the principal cast who worked along beside you, and that you are one of the greatest voice tutors he has ever met.  
  
As you might have guessed, I have a proposition for you. My daughter is seventeen years old, and I would very much like it if you would accept a tidy sum of 800 francs per lesson to be her voice instructor. I believe she has a sweet voice, and could one day challenge Mademoiselle Daaé to a fine vocal duel one day. Not that I would allow her to do so. I simply believe that she has a talent that should be further explored and developed. Please consider my request Monsieur. I shall eagerly await your reply.  
  
Madame Develõngê  
  
  
  
Erik wondered to himself why a woman would be willing to pay so much for her daughter to receive vocal lessons. As he moved further into his room, as he'd barely stepped away from the door, he crumpled the letter and tossed it onto the vanity set against the wall. No doubt the woman's daughter was a pampered little brat like the Raoul. Yet if she had a reasonably attractive voice, Erik could well find it in his total disdain for spoiled brats to tutor her. He didn't have to be afraid of bringing out the girls full potential. After all, very few aristocrats would accept their child going into such careers as those found at the Opera. All women actresses - including Opera singers - were often considered fallen women. That stereotype, of course, made him infuriated that they might think that of his darling Christine.  
  
Yet they loved her even if they believed her to be a fallen woman.  
  
After he had changed from his costume and washed all of the ridiculous stage make up from his face, Erik moved back to the door, and stepped out into the hallway. The corridors were quiet, except for behind a few closed doors where others had undoubtedly just gotten the chance to change. The only door open was at the very far end of the hall. . . away from the others. The light poured in a warm glow out onto the wooden floors of the hallway.  
  
"Christine, are you still there?"  
  
"Yes, Erik, I'm here." She called back, the sound of her voice obviously quite pleased. Yet he stopped moving towards her room when he heard another voice inside.  
  
"That voice still sounds extremely familiar."  
  
"Really, Raoul, you're letting your imagination run away with you. You've never heard him sing before your entire life. This was his debut."  
  
Sighing, Erik continued moving until he stood in the doorway to Christine's dressing room. In the middle of it stood Raoul, watching as his wife brushed out her hair. They both looked at him with quiet smiles, although Christine looked at him over her shoulder through the reflections in her vanity mirror. She was dressed, but apparently just fixing her hair.  
  
"You outdid yourself tonight, Christine." Erik said quietly. "I just wanted to congratulate you on a booming success. And . . . speak to you privately for just three minutes if it's all right."  
  
Raoul immediately seemed on guard as such a request, but Christine nodded immediately. She turned to look at Raoul expectantly. After a long moment, he let out a huffed sigh, and stalked from the room. Erik took his place, and closed the door behind him. Moving over to Christine, he took her hands to lightly kiss them, and then whispered.  
  
"Might I be allowed to use your mirror, Mademoiselle? I can't exactly go out the crowded exits. Do you understand?"  
  
"Of course I understand, Erik." She chuckled, reached up to lightly touch his cheek. Erik was tempted to give her another kiss, on any part of her face would have been fine with him. The moment was perfectly acceptable for it. Especially after emotions had been running so high all night. It had been a wonderful night. "Go right ahead."  
  
"Thank you, ma Cherie." He said softly. "I will see you at our next rehearsal, dearest. Take care of your beautiful, beautiful voice."  
  
"Oh, you needn't worry about that." She promised quietly. As Erik moved towards the mirror, she turned to again brush her long hair. Then, before she could even follow his motions, he was gone, and the mirror was firmly closed behind him. She laughed. "Erik, you are incorrigible." She breathed.  
  
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"Papa!"  
  
Marguerite tackled Erik when he walked through the door at quarter past midnight that evening. He nearly fell back against the front door as it he locked it behind him, and then finally caught the little bundle of energy up in his arms. She had gained a perfectly healthy amount of weight since when he'd first met her. She was getting heavy, just like her sister. It was about time he saw at least some meat on her bones.  
  
"Marguerite!" He exclaimed softly, assuming that everyone else in the house was fast asleep. "What on earth are you doing up at a time like this? It's very much past your bed time!"  
  
"Mama came home from the Opera saying I could wait up for you." She insisted. "Besides . . . I couldn't sleep! Erik, was it truly wonderful? Was everyone beautiful, and were their voices just as pretty? Mama said it was beyond her wildest dreams!"  
  
He laughed, kissing her cheeks softly. Madeline had been at the performance that evening, but not in the audience. To earn a little bit extra money, which is always helpful, she agreed to work during performances as a costume girl. She did more than just help out with the costumes, though. If any of the stage hands needed help in doing anything at all, she was there. Of course she couldn't very well have painted the sets they were using as the performance was occurring. So they found different odd jobs for her to do. She'd even helped the box keepers during intermission when everyone was calling on them all at once.  
  
"Everything was perfect." He promised her. "Maybe next time, I'll let you come and watch the Opera. Would you like that? You'd have the best seats in the house."  
  
"Really?" She exclaimed happily, hugging him so tightly that she nearly strangled him. Erik hushed her gently, and began walking upstairs with her in his arms. "Papa . . . you're going to tuck me in, aren't you?"  
  
"I would never miss a night of tucking you in, Cherie." He whispered soothingly. "At least you're in your nightgown already."  
  
Moving into her room, he lay her gently down on the bed, drew the covers up over her, and kissed her forehead. She put her arms on top of the blankets, folded them on her chest, and then smiled as he put his hands over hers - just as he always did. He leaned down until their faces were only inches apart - just like always.  
  
"What do you want me to sing for you tonight?" He asked in a whisper- soft voice. Marguerite seemed to think this over for an endless moment, and he smiled. Even having been awake for nearly nineteen hours, he wasn't lacking one bit in patience. Not where she was concerned. Finally, she shrugged. "Shall I decide for you?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"All right."  
  
He thought for a long moment himself, and then nodded, smiling with inspiration.  
  
"Seasons come and seasons go, and some how they were meant to show that life and love are never really gone. So when my journey here is through, I'm certain there is just a new hello. And so, when I travel on . . .  
  
Let me be the music. Let me be the music of love I have known. Let me be the melodies in the wind and the trees that sing to the lost and alone.  
  
Let me be the sweet refrain. The sound of the rain. The sweet refrain of a rippling stream. Let me be the lullabies that close the eyes of children, when they dream. . . For music has no walls or bars. It bridges time and space. It only asks the senses to surrender. It sweeps us through the stars and makes us one with its' embrace. It had no fences. It has no gender. . . Let me be the melodies, through the wind and the trees, that blossom and grow. . .  
  
Oh let me be the music . . . To live again as music! Oh let me be the music . . . when . . . I . . . go!"  
  
Marguerite was asleep when he finally kissed her for the final time that night, and he stood to watch her for a long minute. Smiling, he backed out of the room, leaving her door slightly ajar as she always insisted on having it. Then, he crept into Fleur's room. She was fast asleep, as he had expected her to be. He leaned down over the bed to give her a kiss on the forehead. He watched her shift and roll onto her side under the pile of blankets that covered her small frame, and then he moved into his room.  
  
How oddly fulfilled he felt as he slipped between the covers of his own bed, and closed his eyes. 


	13. Belle Isabelle

A/N - Desolator, you are incorrigible!! You sound like the narrator of a soap opera! Grins  
  
Thanks everyone for the reviews!  
  
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Chapter 13: Belle Isabelle  
  
It wasn't even before the end of rehearsal the following day that Erik was called into the managers office. That was odd, for they hadn't spoken to him since his audition. Yet he certainly wasn't worried or nervous about being called to them. He was the Opera Ghost, and would never fear the idiots.  
  
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" He asked Andre and Richard during the rehearsal break when he was supposed to be eating his lunch. "I am afraid I'm quite busy today. . ."  
  
"Monsieur Génie, it has come to our attention that the wife of one of our biggest patrons contacted you last night." Richard stood behind his partner, as Andre sat behind the desk. Both were watching him carefully. Erik immediately had to suppress a groan. "Monsieur Develõngê has in recent months been an even greater patron of the Opera House than the Vicomte de Chagney."  
  
"Has he?" Erik replied, not liking where this conversation was already going. "And you're right, messieurs. Madame did send me a letter after the performance last night."  
  
"A letter?" Richard asked, sounding shocked. "But the woman is utterly blind. A horse threw her when she was a child and she hasn't been able to see ever since."  
  
"Then perhaps the letter was dictated." Andre said quickly, putting sense into his partner. "That doesn't matter. What matters, Monsieur Génie, is that Monsieur Reyer has explained to us that she intended to make some request to you involving her daughter and voice lessons."  
  
"Messieurs, I plan to have my lunch before the hour is over." Erik finally said coolly. "Would you please tell me what this is all about so that I might get out of here?"  
  
They both bristled, and Erik found an inner part of himself laughing silently. Even without being the Opera Ghost he had the ability to muffle their hairs!  
  
"We *suggest* you accept the offer, Monsieur." Andre finally admitted. "It would not go well for us if she were displeased by your refusal in her request, and took out her funding for our productions. You do realize that we *need* patrons to help us afford to keep this place open, don't you?"  
  
"Monsieur Andre, I am not a fool." He replied coldly, clenching his hands into tight fists. "I will make my own decisions. Whether or not your patroness likes it will be of no fault of mine."  
  
Turning, he stalked out of the room, slamming the office door behind him. As usual, Christine was out in the hall . . . waiting for him. Other than Madeline and her children, Christine was the only real friend he had around anymore. It was nice when she was willing to spend all of her lunches with him, unless she had another pressing engagement. She even turned down a lot of Raoul's invitations to lunch, knowing she would always go see him for supper.  
  
"What was that about?" She asked, taking his arm as they began to walk swiftly down the hallway. "It didn't sound pretty. I haven't heard you raise your voice like that in ages. . ."  
  
"They want me to accept a very *generously* paid position by a patroness as the vocal coach of her adolescent daughter." He muttered. "On the side of everything else I do here, of course! Something that takes away from the only free time I have!"  
  
"Erik . . . would it hurt to give it a try?" She asked gently, attempting to sound helpful instead of nagging. "If you think the girl is hopeless, then give it up . . . although I highly doubt even the deafest of people could be considered hopeless when they have a teacher like you. You got me to sing, after all."  
  
"Christine!" He scolded, utterly startled. "You might sing a great deal better than you did when I first discovered you . . . but you certainly had a lovely voice to begin with! Don't you ever talk about yourself like that again!"  
  
"Erik . . . I was only teasing." She insisted, drawing away from him momentarily. "You are in a huff today. Is something wrong?"  
  
"No." He replied honestly, taking a few long breaths to calm down. "But I do *not* like being told what to do. You know that."  
  
"Yes, I can see that." Christine laughed softly, and took his hand affectionately as they climbed into a carriage that would take them to a nearby café. "Is it really a generous offer that they are giving you?"  
  
"A handsome 800 francs per lesson." He replied quietly. "Yet it does not speak of how long each lesson will be. If this girl has had no tutoring at all in the past, then I am afraid I shall rarely ever make it home to Marguerite and Fleur. They'll be furious with me if that should happen."  
  
"Well then you shall have to work out a schedule." Christine suggested. "Surely even the most untrained of voices need only be taught a couple of hours a week, don't you think? Did the offer say what the reason for this tutelage is?"  
  
"To enhance a natural talent." He replied, shaking his head. "I don't understand why it has to be me. So what if I have a pleasant voice? Any number of vocal instructors could satisfactorily pull that little trick!"  
  
"I think you should give it at least a try." She finally decided, leaning back into her seat. "At least to say you tried."  
  
Erik laughed, shaking his head once again. Now he knew he would have to teach the patroness' daughter. He only hoped it would not drive him mad.  
  
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The Develõngê's home was not as large and pretentious as Erik thought it would be. Although handsome, it was perhaps only a few rooms larger than the very one he lived in. Even the inside of the house had very much the same furnishings, with only expensive knick-knacks and paintings to show the wealth of the family. The clothing that even the servants wore, however, was quite another matter. They wore the richest silks and velvets, the most fashionable powdered wigs. Although such wigs had really gone almost entirely out of fashion, this did seem to be a house with slightly old-fashioned tastes.  
  
"Monsieur Génie, is that you?" He was lead into a study where a woman that was perhaps in her fifties stood behind a cherry-stained desk of massive size. Behind her, sunlight flooded into the room, making her slight figure almost indistinguishable as anything more than a blurry silhouette. Yet when Erik moved further into the room, he made certain to move to the side to look at her.  
  
Madame Develõngê was amazingly pretty for a woman of her age. With long chestnut colored hair that - were it not pulled up into an elegant bun - would have surely reached down beyond her waist. With hazel eyes that seemed like the sea after a storm, she looked about the room quietly, trying to follow his motions by the sound of his footsteps on the sparsely carpeted wood floor. She wore a dress that seemed to be made of fabric pearl, with teal, sea-green, and soft cotton-candy pink. She wore jewels adorned with the mentioned stones, and he found her appealing enough to look at.  
  
"Yes, Madame." He finally said quietly, not surprised when her head turned sharply in his direction from shock. At least he hadn't lost the ability to move like a shadow. "I am Erik. I understand you wish me to be your daughters' vocal instructor."  
  
"That is correct, Monsieur." She replied. Her voice was thick, but flattering. It did not offend those who heard it, as some speaking voices did. It did not clash with her physical appearance either. It made him think that if sandalwood had a sound and not just a scent, then perhaps it would belong to her. "Isabelle is my daughter. She was supposed to be here to meet you; but I am afraid she is very shy. Too shy, really. Even if it were possible with her talent, she'd never make a diva on stage. She's like a wallflower."  
  
She tilted her head, stopping in her monologue as though to listen to something. Then, her head turned towards the doorway to the room. Erik followed her actions, and turned to see one of the most beautiful young women he'd ever set eyes on. Of course beauty meant little to his mind. Yet it certainly quickened the pace of his heart. She had long hair, lighter than her mothers, and with a hint of redness to it. Perhaps she took after her father, or had dyed her hair. Her eyes, though, rimmed with thick black lashes, were entirely her own. A pale, unearthly color that reminded Erik of the amethyst gemstone. She wore a simple yet elegant looking dress with conservative blouse, and long flowing skirt of crimson silk. The ties that adorned her bodice were of gold thread that caught the light of the sun and glittered.  
  
When she saw Erik, she seemed to inspect him a moment just as he was inspecting her, and then her powdered, pale cheeks turned a very flattering shade of pink.  
  
"Mademoiselle. . ." Erik said, sweeping a polite bow when he realized he'd been staring. This certainly was not what he had been expecting. Then again. . . he didn't know *what* he'd been expecting. "I am Erik Génie. Are you Mademoiselle Isabelle?"  
  
"Oui, Monsieur." She replied in a quiet voice that made Erik think of a harp. . . but only because of its' sweetness. That astonished him as well. She didn't sound -- or look -- like the pampered brat he'd been expecting. "You are here to evaluate my voice?"  
  
"That I am." He said gently, moving halfway across the room. He turned, seeing how Madame had begun to smile brilliantly hearing them speak together. It almost seemed like a knowing smile, which he chose to ignore. He might be in shock over her overall countenance, but that did not change a thing for the moment. "Madame, would you like to come with us?"  
  
"Non, Monsieur. Thank you." She lowered herself slowly into the chair behind the desk. "Come down when you've completed."  
  
"This way, Monsieur." Isabelle motioned towards a large staircase just outside the door of the study, and he followed her up the plush carpeting into a small room on the immediate right of the second hallway. There was a grand piano waiting for them, completely open. Isabelle moved to the piano, and lightly touched one of the keys, a C reverberating through the room. Apparently it had been built -- or renovated - with acoustics in mind. "It's just recently been tuned."  
  
"Very good." He replied, and moved to sit at the piano. He quickly tested out the sound of the instrument by placing a few bars from 'Carmen', and then nodded in satisfaction. "All right, Mademoiselle. Let us warm up your voice. Begin on C. . ."  
  
His evaluation lasted two and a half hours. He was entirely satisfied with the sound of Isabelle's voice. It was very pleasant to the ear, and most certainly had potential. Yet it would never attain the heights that her mother had expected. That wasn't necessarily a disappointment to Erik. He liked a good challenge.  
  
"Are you pleased?"  
  
He'd been about to walk out of the small music room without another word when Isabelle spoke bluntly for the first time. He turned to look at her in curiosity, and then smiled to ease the nervous look on her face. She was wringing her hands together in front of her, twisting a diamond on her left fourth-finger which he assumed was probably an engagement ring.  
  
"I will accept your mothers' offer to tutor you, if that is what you mean." He said gently, trying not to insult her. "It would be an immense pleasure, even."  
  
Isabelle smiled, sighing in relief.  
  
"This means so much to us, Monsieur." She said, her voice again quiet. She lowered her eyes with another flattering blush. She still took Erik's breath away, like Christine was capable of doing. Yet there was no question of love here. That was quite impossible, really. Under the circumstances. "Thank you."  
  
"I assure you, Mademoiselle. You are more than welcome."  
  
////////////////////////----------------------------- ////////////////////////////////  
  
"So I am going to teach this young lady for three hours a day, three days out of the week. The other four days will be entirely for you - when I come home from rehearsal of course."  
  
He was sitting down to supper with Marguerite and the others that evening, smiling across the table at Madeline. They'd been very eager to know what had kept him from coming home earlier, and as he told the story, only Marguerite seemed unhappy with his newfound accomplishment. In fact, she seemed downright angry that he would dare let anything take him away from her for so long.  
  
"You'll take me with you, won't you?" She asked eagerly, hopefully. Yet Erik shook his head sadly.  
  
"If I could bring you with me, Marguerite, you know I would." He apologized. "But this time that I spend with Mademoiselle Isabelle is for her and me alone. All right? If anyone else shares this time with us, then I will be unable to teach her as well as I could otherwise."  
  
"Is she pretty?" Marguerite demanded, squaring her shoulders and looking him right in the eyes. Erik nearly flinched. Yet he gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.  
  
"Not half so beautiful as you, ma petite." He replied, satisfied with the smile she finally gave him. She seemed to be all right with the new situation after that. Obviously, she still had a crush on him, along with the feeling that he was like a father to her. Erik wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he'd told her the utter truth. She was one of the most beautiful young ladies in the world, and he had the chance to look upon her face.  
  
"Well it sounds like a lovely arrangement." Madeline said after a few seconds, passing another slice of buttered bread across the table to Erik.  
  
"Thank you." He murmured through a mouthful of almost slightly overdone chicken. The children started giggling helplessly at his momentary lapse of table manners, and he joined them once he'd finally swallowed his food. 


	14. Jealousy

A/N - If you would like to know, I reply to reviews on my personal profile. So, if you would like to see them, go ahead and take a peek.  
  
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Chapter 14: Jealousy  
  
Isabelle turned out to have a much stronger voice than Erik had anticipated at first. Her initial shyness on meeting him and singing to him for the first time wore off within the first few lessons, and he was astounded at how well she could really sing when she wasn't so shy. He had not expected her to lose the countenance of her shyness. Yet, lose it she did. At first, she reminded him just a little bit of Christine, and how she had been when he first saw her.  
  
Yet, soon there was a very different personality that she let free whenever he taught her. It was a side of her that he was quite certain she didn't share with anyone but him. He didn't know why. There seemed to be no reason that she let on to which would let him understand her growing change. Her voice was reaching heights he never believed the frail girl he'd met could ever achieve, and within only a few weeks, she was actually mastering difficult pieces that it had taken Christine much longer to learn.  
  
"Maestro Erik, how old are you?" She asked boldly one afternoon, when he was packing up to leave for the afternoon. He was about to go downstairs and collect his check for the past month - a tidy sum of 24,000 francs for a months worth of lessons. The question took Erik quite by surprise, but he turned to look at her politely. He wondered what his answer should be. No one had asked him that in a great many years, and now he couldn't very well tell her the truth about being fifty-one!  
  
"Well, Mademoiselle . . . how old do you think I am?" He asked curiously, lowering himself to sit back down on the piano bench. Isabelle shrugged slowly, stepping closer to him. Her eyes were really quite brilliant in the sunlight. They truly looked as though they were made of amethyst. Her pale, auburn hair was let loose today, so that it was let loose down her back, the ends of the strands brushing the bottom of her waist. He'd been right about the length. It was very long . . . and very, very soft looking.  
  
"Twenty?" She asked quietly. "My mother insists that you must be at least forty to sing like you do. Then again, she cannot see you. I suppose it's understandable for a blind woman to think a man of such accomplishments to be older."  
  
"Yes, that's perfectly understandable." Erik agreed softly. "I'm twenty- three, Mademoiselle. Twenty-three."  
  
She smiled, obviously pleased that she had been very close to guessing the 'correct' age. Erik watched her for a long moment. Her new boldness enhanced her beauty, he found himself thinking. His thoughts still had nothing to do with love. Yet he found nothing wrong whatsoever in acknowledging the beauty of another human being. She looked back at him, straight in the eyes, as though knowing full well what he was thinking, and smiled.  
  
"My mother wants to speak with you when you collect your check." She finally said, breaking the moment of quiet. "I just thought that I would warn you."  
  
"All right." He said, finally standing up once more, taking his portfolio of music under his right arm. "Have a delightful evening, Mademoiselle. I shall see you on Saturday afternoon."  
  
She didn't reply, and he walked out of the room without expecting her to. As he took a left and moved down the carpeted staircase, he could hear her light footsteps behind him. Yet when he turned into the study, her footsteps stopped. Erik smirked quietly, knowing full well she planned to eavesdrop on his conversation with her mother. Madam Develõngê stood in the same gown in which he'd first met her, staring out of the window as the sun set behind the property. Of course, she couldn't really watch anything. Yet, she could feel and sense the light as it dissipated.  
  
"Monsieur . . . your check is on the desk." She said without turning her head towards him even a fraction of an inch. "Would you please have a seat, Monsieur? I would like to speak to you about my daughters lessons."  
  
"Of course, Madame." Erik lowered himself into a leather chair slowly, reaching out to pick up his check of 9,600 francs - what she owed him for the month. "Might I ask, are you pleased with her progress."  
  
"More than you might imagine, Monsieur." She replied quietly, finally turning so that her body faced him. She tilted her heads towards where she thought his voice had come from, and he found himself looking at her eyebrows. "This has to do with where her lessons take place. You see . . . My husband and I have realized that it takes a great deal of time out of your week, to come all the way out here and tutor Isabelle. So we were wondering if there was any chance we might be able to have her go to your home, and be tutored there? That way she might be there earlier in the day, at your earliest convenience after rehearsals, and then might leave earlier as well."  
  
Erik considered this for a long moment. Certainly having Isabelle in his very own home in such an arrangement would be time saving. Yet, there were so many trivial things that might cause complications. The number one complication being the fact that Marguerite almost never left the house unless it was with him, and that she would finally meet Isabelle with her very own eyes.  
  
"Do you trust me enough with your daughter for her to be alone in a house with me?" He asked softly, his voice lightly teasing. "Granted, there are always others at the home, but they are usually just the children of the woman I have on as a ward."  
  
"Isabelle trusts you." Madame said easily enough. "I trust her judgment. She's learned your true character more than I have this past month. Besides, undoubtedly the mother of these children you've mentioned will be home as well during at least most of her lesson, oui?"  
  
"Oui, Madame." He replied quietly. "Don't worry. You truly can trust me. Of course Isabelle is welcome to be tutored in my home . . . but if I feel it is causing stress to the family staying in the building with me, then I shall have to move them back here, or to the Opera House."  
  
"Oh, now that is an idea!" Madame exclaimed suddenly. "I'm willing to bet it would be a great inspiration for Isabelle to be taught among the great singers!"  
  
"Perhaps. For now, I think we'll start in my home." He agreed. Slowly, he stood from the chair, and her eyes seemed to follow the movement. Yet she had no idea how tall he was. "Is that all, Madame?"  
  
"Yes, Monsieur . . . Thank you. Adieu."  
  
"Adieu, Madame." Turning, Erik moved out into the hall to see Isabelle perched on the bottom step of the very near staircase. She was smiling at him brilliantly, obviously pleased that he'd agreed to her mothers' arrangement. Nodding, she reached out to take his hand and squeeze it. That was one thing she'd never done before - touch him. Erik watched her a moment, confused, and then bowed to her before walking out of the house without another backwards glance.  
  
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"No!" Marguerite yelled, in an absolute fury. "No, she can't come here! Home time is *our* time!"  
  
Erik sighed, reaching out to grab the porcelain doll he had recently bought her, plucking it out of the air as she hurled it across the room. She rarely had fits like this, but this was truly a colossal one. He'd just learned that Isabelle would be coming to their house that very evening, within twenty minutes, and did not like it. A stranger coming into their home, with Erik, seemed to frighten her quite badly.  
  
"Ma Cherie . . . please don't." He sighed, placing the doll carefully on a chair by the door. "Listen to me. She will only be here for her singing lessons. You're more than welcome to watch if it pleases you. You know I would never shut you out of the room."  
  
She looked up at him with defiant anger, and he sighed once more, taking a step across the room towards her. She made an angry sound of warning, folding her arms over her chest, and turning to face the window so that her back was to him. Obviously, she didn't want him going anywhere near her. Erik stopped walking, and shook his head.  
  
"Marguerite, you're being childish." He scolded. "You used to be a fine young lady."  
  
"I am not a child!" She yelled, turning to scream the words at him.  
  
"Then do not behave like one." He reasoned pleadingly. "My darling, you know it upsets me to see you unhappy. I'm not trying to make you unhappy at all. I was given the opportunity to teach her here so that I could spend more time with you on the evenings that I meet with her."  
  
She seemed to consider this for several minutes, and then her arms unfolded, hands dropping lifelessly into her lap. Erik let out a long breath of relief. Her tantrum was passing. He wouldn't have to worry about her smashing the only doll she had as of yet. If she'd broken any of the other toys in the room, he would not have cared. Yet, the doll she had thrown was a very expensive piece - irreplaceable. He knew she would have been crushed at the thought of its' demise once she calmed down, if it had been broken.  
  
There was a knock on the door from downstairs, and he heard Madeline call from the parlor that she would answer it. She already knew that Isabelle would be arriving, so wasn't surprised at the knock. Marguerite, however, straightened her shoulders defiantly again, already knowing that it was her 'papa's' pupil. Erik held out a hand to her gently.  
  
"Would you like to meet her?" He asked softly, in a coaxing voice. "I think you'll like her. She's very pretty and very nice. Just like your mama . . . though not quite as old. She's about Christine's age."  
  
Marguerite nodded reluctantly, and climbed down from the bed to accept his hand. Smiling, he leaned down to kiss the crown of her forehead, and then led her downstairs to meet Isabelle. Only halfway down the stairs, he felt a tug at his hand, and he looked behind him to see Marguerite absolutely glaring. Erik turned and followed her gaze.  
  
Isabelle was watching them come down the stairs, her chin lifted as it became only in his presence. Her eyes watched him and the child, scrutinizing how they looked together. Her light auburn hair was pulled back into a thick braid that was piled up on her head, and she wore a pretty dress of a dark forest green with gold buttons and black embroidery along the hem of her skirt.  
  
"Papa, I thought you said she was pretty." Marguerite piped up abruptly. Erik turned to stare at the little girl incredulously, dreading that the tone of her voice was about to become even nastier then it already sounded. "I don't think she looks very pretty at all!"  
  
"Marguerite, behave yourself!" Madeline appeared from the back of the house where the kitchen was located, wiping her hands on a towel. The sounds of supper cooking followed her, although the smells were very faint at the moment. "I'm very sorry, Mademoiselle. She is the jealous type. To think of Erik so much as being friends with any woman other than me and Mademoiselle Daaé at the Opera enrages her."  
  
"I am *not* a child!" Marguerite insisted furiously. She then looked up to Erik pointedly. "Papa, am I a child?"  
  
"No, of course not." He promised softly. "You are usually the perfect little lady. Now . . . I need to go into the parlor and give this woman her singing lesson. If you would like to watch, you may. But you must say nothing else that is mean, and you have to apologize to Mademoiselle Isabelle for being so rude."  
  
Marguerite looked at Isabelle with an uncertain gaze, sizing her up with her jealous eyes. Isabelle only smiled at her quietly, reassuringly.  
  
"I'm sorry." The girl finally hissed insincerely. Erik was about to scold her again, but Isabelle held up a hand.  
  
"How about Marguerite and I go and talk by ourselves for five minutes?" She suggested. "Would that be all right with you, ma petite? Would you let me talk to you for five minutes?"  
  
Again, Marguerite sized her up, trying to decide whether or not being alone with this strange woman was a good idea or not. Yet, then Erik put a strong urging hand on her back, and nodded for her to finish walking down the stairs. Isabelle held out a hand to her, and led her into the parlor, closing the doors behind them. Erik stood in the hallway chatting idly with Madeline until again, the doors opened, and Madeline hurried into the kitchen. Isabelle peeked out into the hall, and nodded for Erik to come in.  
  
"I think we've handled things." She said, motioning to Marguerite, who sat quietly on the bench in front of the piano keys, knowing that Erik was going to sit beside her when he began Isabelle's lesson. Erik smiled softly.  
  
"What did you say to her?" He whispered so that Marguerite would not here. Isabella stifled a laugh.  
  
"I told her that I had no intentions of stealing you away from her. I was just here to sing, and that would be all." She smiled at Erik, and then he sat at the piano, ready to begin the lesson. Before he did, though, he leaned down to kiss Marguerite's cheek. She smiled up at him pleasantly, and was perfectly quiet through the entire lesson.  
  
/////////////////////--------------------------//////////////////////  
  
"I think that was a very sweet thing you did for Marguerite." Erik told Isabelle as he walked her outside to the waiting carriage that would bring her home. "She does really have a very intense crush on me. I think that once she gets used to me being here as a father, it will fade away. Right now, though, she's clinging. Her mother says I'm the first man she's connected with since the death of her father."  
  
"That really is a pity." Isabelle said sincerely. "She's a sweet little girl. It's good she has someone like you to look up to."  
  
Erik almost blushed, but nodded, kissing her hand briefly before she stepped up into the carriage.  
  
"Erik, will you have a seat saved for me at the Opera tomorrow night?" She asked, poking her head out before the carriage could pull away. "I understand that you let the children sit in Box 5. Aren't those seats the best in the house?"  
  
"Yes." He said quickly. "Yes, I'll have a seat saved for you. Yes, they are the best seats in the house. I'm sure Marguerite won't mind sharing a box with you for one evening."  
  
They both laughed as the carriage pulled away, and he turned to return to his home, his little family, and supper. 


	15. Passions

A/N -- Chicketieboo - It's FUN stumping you!!!! *Huggles*  
  
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Chapter 15: Passions  
  
Seven months passed. Marguerite continued to be at least a little jealous of Isabelle every time the young woman came by the house for lessons. She stuck to Erik's side possessively if she was in the house during lessons, refusing to let the older woman get close to him. Erik actually found her behavior a bit of a relief, because it allowed him to keep his mind on the lessons, and on the precious child at his side. It kept his mind from misbehaving when faced with Isabelle's beauty, which never failed to make his pulse race. He believed that it had to be lust he felt, for there was little warmth that he felt towards his pupil.  
  
He did realize that she was a naturally flirtatious young woman, which only heightened her bold nature. Yet, she seemed oblivious to her behavior when she was flirting with him. With each lesson that past, her boldness increased. By the end of the seventh month, he'd totally forgotten the shy little thing he'd met back at her fathers' estate. She was quite the fiery young woman, although he tried desperately not to notice it.  
  
Financially, Erik could not see how the family could have been more secure. By the lessons he gave Isabelle, alone, he earned 9,600 francs per month. He also made 12,000 each month as the Opera Ghost, as that was his new salary. Madeline earned 250 francs working as a painter at the Opera House, and he earned 500 each month as the principal tenor. He would earn more once he'd been with them for a year, but the managers were still anxious that he might just be a short-lived success. When he was there for a year, he would earn 800 a month. Yet, as it was, he and Madeline brought in 22,150 francs per month.  
  
His relationship with Madeline didn't change for a moment the entire time they lived together. She was simply the mother of the children he loved so dearly, and actually a very good friend. Sometimes they ate lunch together when the breaks for rehearsals took place. Every night he'd come home to her delicious suppers and that was, basically, the most that they interacted. Sometimes they'd do things with the children as though they were a true family, yet their feelings never altered towards one another.  
  
The love he'd once felt for Christine had finally begun to alter itself into a deeper more enduring love that had the foundations of friendship rather than obsession. When he was not having lunch with Madeline, he usually joined Christine instead. Every morning before rehearsals, he would tutor her voice just as he was tutoring Isabelle. They were constantly flirting with one another when they were alone, but both knew perfectly well that nothing was meant to come of it. As the date for Christine's marriage to Raoul grew closer, she even asked him to attend, and possibly give her away. Erik was only too honored to accept her requests.  
  
It was late on a Wednesday afternoon when Erik concluded a lesson he'd been giving Isabelle, and dove into a composition he'd begun a few days earlier. Madeline had taken her three children to a fair that was in town for the week, and thus he was alone to fend for himself for supper. He had taken to having Isabelle let herself out in the past month or so, because often her father would be in the carriage waiting for her, and he did not like how the man glared out at him when he kissed her hand good- bye. That was why he was surprised when Isabelle came back into the parlor, clearing her throat to catch his attention.  
  
"The carriage hasn't arrived yet." She told him quietly. Erik lifted his eyes to her slowly, taking in her beauty once again. She wore a crimson gown of velvet that hugged her figure nicely, flatteringly. The bodice had long tight sleeves, pinched her waist a bit, and had a low- scooping neckline. It was the most revealing thing he'd ever seen her wear. Usually she was so conservative.  
  
"Why don't you wait by the door, then?" He asked, clearing his throat halfway through the question to gain control over his traitorous voice. "I'm sure it won't be very late. It never is."  
  
"It will be tonight." She pointed out. Reaching up, she pulled a ruby and gold comb out of her hair, which had been gathered up to the top of her head. Yet removing that single restraining come, her auburn hair tumbled down over her shoulders and over her back. The sight made Erik catch his breath, and he looked down at his hands quickly. "My fathers' out of town on business this week. I paid the driver well to make certain he had an unfortunate delay in picking me up until after nine o'clock tonight."  
  
Erik shook his head slowly, closing his eyes, and letting out a shaky breath. He refused to look at her. Most women who wore their hair down in front of gentlemen were trying to be seductive. She looked seductive standing there like that. The words she said only enhanced the illusion. Nevertheless, Erik was certain he was taking the situation the wrong way. If she was seducing him, then she might very well be disappointed.  
  
"Isabelle, try and make yourself a bit more presentable." He told her sternly. "I am a gentleman."  
  
"I wasn't aware that gentlemen couldn't feel." She said angrily. Her tone took him off guard, and he looked up at her quickly. She was only two feet away. He hadn't even heard her approach. Was his heart beating that loud? So loudly that it drowned out the sound of her footsteps? "Is that what it is, Erik? Is it that you can't feel anything at all? Do you think I flirt with any man at all?"  
  
"I did not think you did it intentionally." He confessed. "None-the- less, Isabelle . . . I . . . your parents trust me to be gentlemanly and to respect you as a lady. I do respect you as a young woman. It isn't that I don't feel anything. It's that I don't feel the right things, and that I could never dishonor you even if I did."  
  
She looked like she was going to say something. Yet, her eyes finally softened. She walked around behind him to sit on the piano bench next to him. She sat down where Marguerite usually hugged his side. Her hand covered his on the keys gently.  
  
"You're very good at lying to yourself." She whispered into his ear, making him shuddering. Erik thought the woman had a great deal of brass. If she wanted to try to seduce him, that was one thing. Yet getting so close might cause her a great deal of harm. "Madeline spoke to me briefly after Monday's lesson. She said that she too has seen how you look at me. Of course she said that you'd realize how beautiful I am, and appreciate it with your eyes. Yet, she's seen more than hunger and lust in your eyes. So have I."  
  
"Isabelle, you don't know what you're talking about." He insisted fiercely. "If your carriage is going to be so late, I will hail you a cab."  
  
"Erik, don't you understand a damn thing?" She hissed, standing quickly. "I am not just trying to seduce your body. I am not trying to be mean-spirited by seducing you. I want to be yours."  
  
"Oh . . . good for you." He murmured quietly. "I'm not trying to hurt you either, Isabelle. I am not going to be seduced by you. I am not going to dishonor you. I am not going to ruin your parents' trust in me. You have no idea how much trust they're putting in me letting you come here when we're going to be alone without a chaperone!"  
  
"That's the point!" She insisted, flinging up her hands in exasperation. "Don't you realize that, Erik? They trust you, so they'll have no idea! My father would never let you court me, Erik. Don't you know that?"  
  
"Of course I do." He replied more quietly. "That's why I can't do this. If we cannot court, then we cannot marry. If we cannot marry, I cannot . . . love you. If I cannot love you, then most certainly I cannot take your offer!"  
  
Isabelle sighed, shaking her head.  
  
"You're an honorable man, Erik. I've known that from the beginning." She breathed. "Please . . . Can you honestly say you feel absolutely nothing for me at all?"  
  
"No." He replied, his voice barely audible. "I won't say I feel nothing at all for you. I'm not a liar anymore than I am a lecher."  
  
"Do you know that I'm engaged?" She asked suddenly, again taking him off guard. "I certainly don't want to marry the idiot, pompous, old brat! He's twice my age! I don't want someone I deplore taking this from me. I'd rather it be someone I care for."  
  
"You don't love me." Erik said simply. "You care about me as your teacher and perhaps as a friend, but you don't love me. That's even more reason for you to walk out of this room right now."  
  
"I do love you." She replied passionately. "Erik, please believe me. I thought you must surely have realized it. The reason I behave the way I do around you is because of how you make me feel."  
  
He shook his head. There was a very long and painful silence. There was nothing more he could say. He refused to change his mind about refusing her. He was flattered. Now, he could even say that he was pleased. Honestly, he wasn't in love with her, even though he did care deeply for her welfare and happiness. Still, he did not love her. Not the way he had loved Christine. He highly doubted he would ever love someone that way again.  
  
"Good night, Isabelle." He finally whispered. "I will see you on Friday."  
  
"Erik . . ."  
  
"Go!" He stood up, and walked away from her. "Get out of here, Isabelle!" Her perfume and her beauty were getting to him. Love or no love, if she kept this up, he would be unable to control another part of him. Something he'd never let take over before.  
  
"I will not get out!" She retorted with just as much fury. He felt her hands take his shoulders from behind. "Surely you have to feel something more than what you're admitting to, Erik. You wouldn't so passionately refuse me if you didn't care about me this much. Erik, please! Listen to me! I don't care about righteousness or propriety! I don't care about whether or not my parents trust you! I trust you!"  
  
He was shaking violently. Dear God, if she did not stop. . ,  
  
"Go . . ." He pleaded one more time. When she didn't move, he closed his eyes tightly, and very slowly turned around to face her. "Isabelle, you flirt with the devil."  
  
"If the devil can move my heart as you can, then so be it." She breathed.  
  
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Marguerite was enraged when she came home that evening, and Erik's door was both closed and locked against her and Fleur. Not once had he ever missed tucking her in. Not once; and now she couldn't even get into his room to wake him up. There was no reply when she pounded on his door and tried to get him to open it. Madeline had to sit with her in bed for hours, waiting for her daughter to calm down and go to sleep.  
  
She was angry with Erik that he would lock his door against Marguerite. It was something totally out of character for him. Perhaps he was ill, and did not want her to be exposed to whatever it is he had. That was possible. Maybe he wasn't even home. It was impossible to tell. There was nothing but silence coming from his room.  
  
////////////////////////---------//////////////////////////////////  
  
"So . . . what happened last night?" Madeline looked up from the kitchen table as Erik took his turn in cleaning the breakfast dishes. She was sipping a hot tea with lemon that Erik had introduced to her. "Marguerite was inconsolable. She's going to be absolutely furious with you this morning."  
  
"I . . . needed time to myself." He said uncertainly, looking towards the doorway to the kitchen, making sure the mentioned twin wasn't there to listen in on their conversation. "Actually, Isabelle left very late last night. I had to sleep. I didn't want to lock my door, but didn't want Marguerite to wake me up."  
  
"Liar." Madeline scolded. "You know you can't lie to me."  
  
"Well, Isabelle did leave very late last night." He said insistently. "Don't worry about the rest."  
  
She nearly dropped the cup she was holding between her hands. Her mouth fell open as she stared at the back of his head in amazement.  
  
"You have got to be kidding me!" She gasped. "You and Isabelle?"  
  
He sighed, shaking his head, laughing almost silently. He didn't seem so much happy or proud as he did reluctant.  
  
"Isabelle and I." He whispered softly. "I can't teach her anymore. It would be out of the question to even see her again. She wouldn't give up. She wouldn't leave me alone about it. Now it's too late, really, to stop her. She just doesn't understand. What she's looking for is impossible to keep up. I can't give up my own honor as easily as she can her own."  
  
"I do hope you're joking." Madeline laughed. "What is going on in your mind? If Isabelle sets her mind on something, she gets it, and you know that. She'll go home and tell her parents what you did with her last night, and there will be a regular shotgun wedding, just like they do in the southern states of America!"  
  
Erik laughed aloud at that.  
  
"Marguerite really is going to kill me." He murmured. "I swear to God she's going to kill me. She hates Isabelle!" 


	16. Breakers

A/N - The title is basically talking about ocean waves. You know what I mean, don't you? The breakers that you see splashing upon the rocks and cliffs in romantic scenes of movies; those waves? Please don't hate Isabelle, it wasn't my intention for you to hate her! Perhaps she'll be more likable after this chapter. I'm struggled for you to like her.  
  
Chapter 16: Breakers  
  
****Flashback****  
  
"Then so be it."  
  
She'd pulled him down into a kiss then. It had been a kiss not unlike the one Christine had given him so many months before. A kiss that broke down all of his defenses and denials, leaving him standing vulnerable, and exposed to the world. All the walls that kept him from seeing how he felt about certain situations and people were knocked away. All the forms of denial he'd forced upon himself about how he felt towards the beautiful pupil now in his arms were taken from him.  
  
What he found in the core of his being was quite astonishing to him. Only a moment later he found himself with his arms pulling Isabelle very tightly against him, holding her by the waist. Yet there was one thing left to him, and that had been his honor. There was nothing that would make him break his promise never to touch her in a way that would take away the only innocence she had left. The kiss they shared seemed to go on for many years, and when he finally tore himself away from her, he was out of breath.  
  
"You do love me." Isabelle breathed. "I knew you loved me! I knew it . . ."  
  
He shook his head slowly, backing away from her until the back of his knees hit the edge of a divan, and he lowered himself into it quickly. He was shaking all over.  
  
"You still don't love me." He finally retorted, making his voice sound as cold as he possibly could. It wasn't very easy.  
  
"I have strange ways of showing it, but I do love you." She insisted gently. "Are you afraid, Erik? Is that what it is? You're afraid that I don't really love you?"  
  
Erik looked up at her slowly, his eyes widening. Could that possibly be it? Was he looking at this in the entirely wrong perspective? Maybe because he was so terrified, he'd only believed her to be coming onto him so strongly minutes before. Maybe he'd simply felt suffocated by her advances. He'd only been able to stare at her for a long time. She didn't seem even half as aggressive then as she had moments before. Had she ever been as bold as he'd thought? Had she ever been quite as shy as he remembered her being when they met? Had she truly changed at all, or had his minds perspective of her change?  
  
"You have to go, Isabelle." He'd finally whispered, his air passage constricting painfully. "Please, go for now. Go for tonight. I need to . . . think."  
  
When she'd straightened out her hair, and piled it again on top of her head, securing it in place with her gold and ruby comb, she'd gone to stand before him once more. Her eyes were soft as she looked at him. She looked at him with those amazing amethyst eyes. In the dying sunlight, they seemed even more pure than ever.  
  
"My carriage still will not be here for some time." She reminded him quietly.  
  
Erik stood quickly. He had to move, to do something. He had to move away from her so he could still think clearly.  
  
"I'll make us some tea . . . And I'm sure that you must be hungry by now."  
  
"Well; yes." She agreed after a long moment. "Actually . . . I am."  
  
"Then I will make us some supper." He said, managing a nervous smile. "Stay in here and practice some more. The more you practice, after all, the better you'll sing." His words were nonsense, and they both knew it. Yet what else was he to say? He still needed time to think everything over.  
  
He hurried into the kitchen and lit up the stove. He began heating up hot water for the tea he was going to make. Quickly, he went into the pantry to find something that would make an easy meal. He could cook like a first-class chef if he wanted to. Perhaps if he made a first-rate meal, that would give him time enough to think things over.  
  
"Garlic, tomatoes, salt, pepper, broccoli, cheese, pasta, chicken . . ." He spoke to himself idly, trying to gather all the things he would need. It had been a very long time since he'd cooked. Thank God his memory was as good as it had been in the past.  
  
As he prepared supper, he thought about Isabelle and the kiss. He thought about how she'd always seemed so bold with him. And tonight, before the kiss, she'd seemed overly bold. Now as he looked back at her behavior, it didn't seem even half as aggressive. Perhaps she hadn't been as forward as his mind had led him to believe. Perhaps she was right about him being afraid. It was more than possible that he'd been afraid of letting himself love her, and so had seen her nature as more teasing and bold than deliberately flirtatious and inviting.  
  
Did he love her? That was still a question to which he couldn't find the answer.  
  
The chicken was cooking in the oven, and the pasta was boiling on the stove. Beside it was another pot in which he was steaming the broccoli, and then there was another pot that he used to melt the block of cheese he'd taken from the pantry. He'd done everything without even realizing it.  
  
If he loved her, then he could possibly ask her to marry him. He knew he could never have asked a woman to marry him unless he loved her. Or, of course, if it were the honorable thing to do. Yet he had not taken her virginity from her. There was literally no possibility of her being with child. So there was no reason to do something so honorable. Of course, marriage in itself was an honorable act.  
  
He looked down at the counter in front of him, and found the tea tray ready to be carried into the parlor. Yet he glanced over his shoulder to the kitchen table, and found that it was still bare. He ignored the tea for a moment, and quickly went about setting two places. He found one candle in the pantry to place on the center of the table, and lit it. Then, he went back to the tea tray, and carried it into the room with the piano, where Isabelle was obediently practicing her scales.  
  
"The tea is ready." He said quietly, and she looked up at him. It was fully dark outside by now. He hadn't even realized there was a lack of light in the kitchen. He'd been so deep in thought. Isabelle had lighted several of the lamps in each corner of the room, and carried on to the piano so she might see the sheet music clearly. As he carried the tea over to the divan, and placed the tray on the coffee table, she stood from the piano bench and moved to sit beside him on the divan. "We're low on sugar. I hope you don't mind."  
  
"I don't mind at all." She replied softly. Erik lifted his eyes to her carefully. She was smiling at him affectionately. It was gentle affection too. It wasn't the bold and forward aggressiveness he'd thought he'd seen for months previous. "You were in there quite a while. How is the meal coming along?"  
  
"Perfectly." He said, looking down to find a cup of tea in his own hand. Isabelle quietly drank from her own cup. "I hope that you'll like it."  
  
"I'm certain that I will." She smiled again. "You're full of surprises, Erik. Most people, who have an outstanding gift, like you do with music, are rarely good at much else. Look at all you can do. You can sing, and play the piano. You are a very good tutor. You make excellent tea, and it seems now I find out you can cook, too!"  
  
He laughed, feeling the world slowly come back to him as his thoughts evaporated into a sense of well-being. He was still a bit nervous, but perhaps that was a natural emotion when sitting around someone you so cared about. Looking up at Isabelle, he watched her eyes as she watched his. Yet she wasn't being overly bold. Bolder than the submissive and naïve women he usually saw around Paris, yes; but not overly bold. She was direct, that was all.  
  
When they finished their tea, Erik stood and hurried back into the kitchen to check on the meal. Well, the pasta was a little softer than he would have liked, but it still came out surprisingly good. He hurriedly chopped up the garlic he'd taken from the pantry, along with the tomatoes, and then taken the broccoli off of the stove to cool. He stirred the cheese to find it was only a tiny bit burned - he'd left it unattended for too long while having tea. It was nothing to be very worried about. He then mixed all of the ingredients together. The Cheese, the broccoli, the tomatoes, the garlic, and the pasta, all went into a large bowl and then he sprinkled it with salt and pepper. Then he took the chicken from the oven to find it perfectly cooked. Not undercooked, not overdone. Placing his newly invented pasta dish and chicken out on the table, he then found two wine glasses in a cupboard, and retreated to the study to find a bit of champagne. It seemed the proper thing to offer a young woman.  
  
"It looks marvelous." He looked up from pouring the champagne into the two glasses at their table settings, and smiled lightly at Isabelle as he came into the kitchen and sat down at a setting. Erik was the perfect host, serving her the dish with flair and humor to the best of his nervous ability.  
  
Dinner progressed rapidly, and was over far too soon. Erik and Isabelle worked together in cleaning up every dish, pot, and pan. They dried everything and put it all away. Erik cleaned up the countertop and the table so it would seem nothing had been touched in these last few hours.  
  
By that time, it was finally nine o'clock, and the carriage arrived to pick her up. Like he had always done before her father came with the carriage, he walked her outside, and kissed her hand before helping her into the carriage. Yet then, after the door was closed behind her, she leaned her head out to whisper something to him. He leaned in to find out what it was . . . and found himself being kissed a second time!  
  
"Adieu, mon amour." She breathed softly. Erik smiled sincerely for the first time that evening without nervousness.  
  
"Bonne nuit, ma Chéri." He said gently in return, reaching up to lightly touch her cheek.  
  
When she was gone, he retreated up to his room, and locked the door. He wouldn't be able to face Marguerite that night. He wouldn't be able to see the confusion and pain in her eyes once he explained to her that there was someone else in his heart. The last thing in the world he wanted was to hurt her in any way. When he'd heared the pounding on his door that night, he had sat perfectly still, fighting back the sadness he felt at hearing her rage and sorrow. He simply couldn't talk to her at that moment. He still had so many things to consider.  
  
//////////---------//////////  
  
******Present time******  
  
"Papa, what's playing tonight?" Marguerite stepped into Erik's room as he changed out of his home clothes, which he'd worn to supper, and readied to return to the Opera House. It was Friday evening, and Isabelle had not appeared for her usual lessons. That made Erik more nervous than he'd ever been his entire life. Yet he had only half an hour beforehand received a message from her saying she was sorry for missing lessons, but would be at the performance if he'd reserve a seat for her again.  
  
"Faust." He turned and smiled to his precious 'daughter', reaching out to ruffle her hair. She was still a bit miffed about how he'd missed tucking her in two nights before. At least she was on speaking terms with him now. "Would you and Fleur like to come? It's a good story. I'll tell you all about it so you'll know what's going on before the performance begins."  
  
"I'd like to go." She said calmly. That was how she reacted to his offers when angry at him. Yet he could see her eyes light up. She wouldn't be angry for much longer. "Can we sit in Box Five again?"  
  
"Box Five always has room for three beautiful ladies." He chuckled.  
  
"Three?" She asked. "Is Mama going?"  
  
"She'll be backstage, as always." He said slowly. "Isabelle's going to be there tonight." 


	17. Old Friends

Chapter 17: Old Friends  
  
Marguerite looked up at Erik, giving him one of her most beautiful pouts; the sort of face that he normally would be unable to deny under any circumstances.  
  
"Do we have to sit with her?" She asked in a whine. "I don't like sitting with her!"  
  
"I know you don't like sitting with her." He said gently. "You have to, though. I can't let you sit there alone. Before Isabelle sent me her note today, I was going to have the box keeper stay with you. Something bad could happen to you, and I'd never forgive myself."  
  
Marguerite crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest.  
  
"We'll throw her over the edge of the box!"  
  
Erik couldn't hold himself up when he started to laugh. His knees gave out on him almost immediately. Slowly sitting on the floor, he leaned back against the side of his mattress, and held out a hand to her. She moved to him, and he slipped his arms tightly around her, kissing her face and hair. She was so adorable.  
  
"You don't really hate Isabelle that much, do you?" He asked once his gales of laughter had calmed to low, constant chuckles. "I think she's very nice, and very sweet."  
  
"And very pretty." Marguerite added nastily, obviously not meaning it. Erik hesitated, watching her.  
  
"Yes." He finally agreed, sobering up. "Ma Cherie, I have to tell you something. When you and your Mama were gone with Fleur and Gerard the other night, Isabelle came by as she always does, for her lessons."  
  
"Is that supposed to be a surprise?" She asked sarcastically. He chuckled again.  
  
"No. The surprise is that I found something out about her, and about myself, that night. I think I might love her, Marguerite. Would that upset you too terribly? If I were in love with Isabelle?"  
  
She watched him for a long moment, a look of pain on her face. Sighing, he stroked her cheek gently.  
  
"Ma petite, that doesn't mean I've stopped loving you. It doesn't mean I love you any less. I just love you differently. You understand that, don't you?"  
  
"She said she wouldn't take you away from me!" Her hand curled into a fist, and he had to catch her small wrist before she hit him hard in the shoulder. She'd gained a great deal of strength since he'd become the 'savior' of the family.  
  
"She hasn't taken me away from you." He promised. "I will always be with you, Marguerite. Always. I will always be here with you, and for you. Every time you need me for any reason, I will be here. Even loving Isabelle couldn't keep me away from you. You mean more to me than anyone else in this world. Do you understand me? Nothing is going to make me leave you."  
  
She pulled away from him, even though he was trying to let her know everything would still be all right if he started to love Isabelle more deeply. She stared at him as she backed from the room, tears standing in her eyes. Then, she whirled, pounding down the stairs.  
  
"Mama!" He heard her shriek, giving out a wail, and he sighed, shaking his head. Slowly standing, he turned to reach for his coat and hat. He wanted to stay and talk to Marguerite some more. He wanted to comfort her. Yet if he didn't move now, he would be late for warm-ups back at the Opera House. He was going to perform in his favorite Opera that night, and he wanted to sound worthy of the role.  
  
/////////////---------------------////////////////////////////  
  
Intermission, and Erik was sitting in his dressing room, relaxing for the half hour that allowed him to relax his voice. He'd been playing Faust with everything that he had that evening. He didn't want to disappoint those in the audience who wanted to see true heart and true beauty in the art they came to listen to. Yet it was taking its toll on him tonight. He knew that he would have to take it easy on his voice if he wanted it to last through the night. He'd been practicing hard in rehearsal all that day, and he should have seen this coming. Yet his mind had been too filled with thoughts of Isabelle and Marguerite for him to realize it until now.  
  
There was a soft knock on his door, and he stood to open it. If he didn't have to speak, he wasn't going to. Every word could compromise his voice. He peered out into the hallways, and then smiled as Christine looked up at him with her braided hair and kerchief. The costume she wore made her look like a sweet Dutch girl more than anything, but that was only up close. Chuckling, he opened the door to let her in.  
  
"Is your voice feeling better?" She asked him in concern, and he nodded. He looked her over briefly as she stood awkwardly in the doorway, and noticed she held an envelope in one hand, tapping it nervously against her opposite palm. He pointed to it questioningly, and she followed his gaze. "Oh! I'd almost forgotten! Monsieur Reyer asked me to give this to you."  
  
Erik groaned. If Monsieur Reyer had sent him another patrons request to have their family members tutored, he would scream. He didn't have the time anymore. Yet if that was what this note was all about, then he knew the managers would make him do it. Yet when he unfolded the letter inside, he nearly dropped it for shock.  
  
'Monsieur Genie,  
  
Or should I say Erik? It has been a very long time since I have come back to Paris. Yet word of this amazing lead tenor who appeared shortly after your terrorization of the Opera House has traveled far. Lo and behold I returned to my apartment life here in Paris to find you on stage! I don't know how you did it, Erik. Perhaps you'll reveal your new trickery to me if we meet. Yet I'm sure it will prove interesting.  
  
I'm still watching you, old friend. I'm glad to know you're well, even if it does seem you're up to new tricks that I'm not sure are more or less dangerous. Please be careful, and please consider seeing me after tonight's performance.  
  
Nadir'  
  
"What is it, Erik?" Christine asked in concern, seeing the look on his face. "Who is it from?"  
  
"The Daroga himself!" He laughed, handing her the note. "Nadir . . . you old devil." Taking the note back, he scribbled onto the other side of the paper, and asked Christine to return it to Monsieur Reyer. She nodded and quickly moved to do so. He then sat down again, closing his eyes for the last few minutes of intermission, before he would have to get into his place on stage.  
  
///////////////////////-------------//////////////////  
  
Erik sighed with relief when the curtain closed at the end of the final act, and he took his abbreviated bows. Usually the crowd kept him bowing on stage for nearly ten or fifteen minutes after every performance. Yet tonight, he'd made certain the men who ran the curtain knew that after four bows, they were to close them. He didn't want to stay on stage for encores tonight. He was far too fatigued and his voice simply needed to rest and get away from all the other sounds that seemed to affect it just as much as speaking did.  
  
"Erik, should I get you some tea?" Christine asked, walking off stage at his side, as she usually did. She sounded genuinely concerned. She'd never heard his voice so tired, although it certainly hadn't affected his performance.  
  
"Cherie, thank you, that would be very nice." He said gently to her in reply, touching her shoulder gently before moving down the hallway and back into his dressing room. Removing most of his costume and getting into his own clothes, he collapsed on the divan, closing his eyes for a brief rest. Yet not even five minutes passed before there was a knock on the door.  
  
"Erik?"  
  
"Come in, Christine." Sitting up, he sighed as she brought the tea over to him, and sat on the divan beside him with her own cup and saucer. They sipped the hot liquid, and Erik closed his eyes. It was bliss to his throat. He already felt better. Yet even their own silence was broken by a quick succession of short raps on the door before it was thrown open by a little figure outside.  
  
"Papa?"  
  
"Come in." He smiled, turning to see Fleur, Marguerite, and Isabelle standing together in the doorway. So the children had come. He hadn't been able to ask Madeline if she'd brought them when she arrived at the Opera House. They'd both been too busy with their separate duties. Putting down his cup of tea, he reached out to pull the twins into his arms, kissing them affectionately. He was grateful when Marguerite hugged him in return, giving him frantic little kisses; her eyes alight. The pain he'd seen in her eyes that evening was gone. Perhaps Madeline had been able to console her.  
  
"You were wonderful tonight, Erik." Isabelle said softly, drawing his attention to her. He took in a sharp breath, looking at the dark purple velvet she wore, with gold colored trimming along every seam. She wore amethyst earrings that set off her beautiful eyes, and she was simply awe- inspiring. She smiled at him affectionately, and came forward, offering her hand. Erik quickly stood, taking his arms from around the little ones to take her hand, and bring it too his lips.  
  
"Thank you so much, Mademoiselle." He greeted formally, and she laughed.  
  
"Erik, do you really need to call me Mademoiselle?"  
  
Christine cleared her throat, and Erik composed himself quickly.  
  
"Oh -- Christine, this is Isabelle, the young lady I have been tutoring. I've told you about her, haven't I? Isabelle, this is Christine Daaé."  
  
"Of course." Isabelle greeted with soft enthusiasm. "Erik has told me a great deal about you, Mademoiselle. I admire your talent."  
  
"Merci." Christine said graciously, looking at them curiously. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Erik speaks about you quite a bit. He says you have quite the talent yourself."  
  
"Does he?" Isabelle looked up at Erik mischievously. "I wonder what he might have been referring to."  
  
"Well I could say seduction, my dear. Yet that would hardly be proper, now would it?" Everyone laughed, and Christine seemed to finally understand what was happening in the room. They spoke for a few more minutes, and Erik sat down again, holding onto his two little beauties as they climbed into his lap.  
  
"Well, I think we should be taking you home to your Mama." Isabelle finally said, looking to the children. "What do you say, ma petites? Shall we get you home now? I promised your mama I wouldn't keep you here too late."  
  
"No." Marguerite said simply. "I don't want to go with you. I want to go with Erik."  
  
Fleur, on the other hand, was standing already, and had moved to take Isabelle's hand. Erik laughed quietly, squeezing his arm around Marguerite's waist gently.  
  
"It's all right, Isabelle." He said quietly. His cup of tea was long since finished, and his voice felt a great deal better. "She can stay with me. Would you mind taking Fleur? It seems she's ready to go to sleep."  
  
"Certainly, Erik." Isabelle leaned down, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, which he returned with a gentle smile. "Adieu!"  
  
"Adieu." Erik and Christine replied at the same time. Then, when Isabelle was gone, Christine turned to Erik with wide, excited eyes. "Erik! Why didn't you tell me? I'm so happy for you!"  
  
"Now, now, I'm not entirely certain this is a full fledged relationship." He said quickly. "This has only been going on since Wednesday."  
  
"Oh." She said simply, but didn't look convinced. Marguerite had a mildly sour look on her face as they continued to talk about Isabelle. Yet she didn't seem sad, only a bit put-off. "Well, I'd better get going before Raoul thinks I've run off with another man. We're supposed to be having dinner together."  
  
"Then I'll see you Monday." Erik said gently, kissing her hand before she stood and walked out. He then just sat there, holding onto Marguerite for a long while.  
  
"What are you waiting for, Papa?" Marguerite asked softly, yawning a little bit. Sighing, Erik kissed and stroked her hair some more.  
  
"A friend of mine is supposed to visit." He replied gently, looking up towards the door, which Isabelle had unwittingly left open. "He's probably searching for the right dressing room."  
  
They sat together in silence. Marguerite was almost completely asleep in his arms, but still clinging to consciousness. It was nearly forty-five minutes since curtain call, and Nadir still had not appeared. That was very unlike him. Yet Erik continued to wait, knowing he'd appear in his own good time.  
  
A shadow appeared out in the dimly lit hallway, and peered into the room. Erik noticed the shadow immediately, and simply stared outward at it, directly at where the eyes of the figure should have been. They stared at one another for a very long time before Erik smiled in amusement.  
  
"Still can't believe it, old man?" He asked, chuckling. Nadir finally stepped into the room, his jaw having dropped open.  
  
"Allah above, it isn't a trick!" He gasped. "Erik, would you mind telling me what's going on?" His eyes flickered to the child in Erik's arms, who was staring up at him curiously by now.  
  
"If I could tell you the answers to what you want to know, Nadir, I would." He stood up, reaching for his cloak and swinging it onto his shoulders. "I'm sorry that this is going to be a short visit. I have to take Marguerite home to her bed. She's very tired."  
  
"Who is she?" Nadir asked cautiously. It made Erik laugh outright.  
  
"What is the matter with you?" He challenged. "Do you think I'd actually kidnap a little child? I haven't, I assure you! I met her some months back. Her family lives with me now, in a house down the street."  
  
Nadir looked speechless, and continued to stare at Erik as though he were some apparition that he couldn't believe in.  
  
"Papa . . ." Marguerite whined softly, sitting up on the divan to reach out for him. Erik quickly scooped her up into his arms so that she seemed to be laying in them, her head on his shoulder. "Can we go home now?"  
  
"Yes, Cherie." He kissed her hair for the thousandth time that evening. "We're going home in just a few seconds, I promise." He looked back up at Nadir. "You took a considerable amount of time getting here. Next time we will speak longer. The management has my address if you want to come calling tomorrow."  
  
"I'd . . . I'd be delighted to accept such an invitation." Nadir looked quite nervous. With all the things he'd seen Erik do, this seemed to be simply out of his comprehension. "It's good to see you again, Erik."  
  
"And you." Erik admitted. "Good night, Nadir. Take care of yourself, old man."  
  
Chuckling, he moved past Nadir, and down the hallway. Marguerite snuggled against him as he put his cloak around them. Tightly, to keep off the night time winds outside. It was going to be raining before dawn. 


	18. A fun rainy day

A/N: How could I leave Nadir out of the story, huh? (Grins) I can't say he'll be in the story a LOT, but I just HAD to mention him!  
  
///////-----------////////////  
  
Chapter 18: A fun rainy day  
  
Madeline looked at Fleur as she stood on a chair beside her, so that she could help make breakfast. The height of her beautiful little girls was one thing that having good healthy meals every night had yet to fix. Oh, they'd grown an inch or two, but it was slow in happening. At her age, Fleur should have been able to stand at her side and simply get onto her tiptoes to help cook. Still, none of it really mattered. She was healthy, and seemed very happy.  
  
"Don't you dare" Madeline scolded as Fleur put her finger into the batter of muffin mix that she'd been whipping, and sucked it from her finger. "If you do that again, you won't get to have them when they're finished."  
  
Fleur looked up at her with a smile, then touched her pointer finger to her thumb, her other three fingers up and splayed.  
  
"How can you like it?" Madeline retorted, laughing. "It isn't even cooked yet!"  
  
Fleur shrugged, hopped down from the chair, and then moved towards the kitchen door.  
  
Marguerite was awake, as she'd just come downstairs momentarily wearing her long white night gown, her black hair loose and in snarls. Madeline had sent her back upstairs to get dressed, and since then they'd heard her banging about in her room, still trying to wake, as she got dressed.  
  
Erik himself was apparently still in bed. It was the first Saturday he'd not had to appear at the Opera House since he'd been employed, and was taking advantage of the time he was able to sleep. Madeline didn't blame him. He worked himself ragged, and had warned Marguerite to let him sleep. That, of course, didn't stop her from making so much noise in the room beside his that he might be awakened by it.  
  
Gerard was at the table, talking to himself noisily, and eating the oatmeal she'd made for his breakfast. He could have had muffins and eggs and pancakes with the rest of the family, but he didn't seem to like solid food a great deal. He always preferred soup or broth over any other meal. It seemed odd to Madeline, but if that was what he wanted then so be it.  
  
A door creaked open to the room above her on the second floor, and she glanced upwards. That was more than likely Erik's door. It was so close to Marguerite's it was usually hard to tell. Yet the lack of footsteps before the creak of the door opening told her it had to be Erik, who was capable of walking as silently as a panther. She kept watching the ceiling, wondering for a moment if she was right in her assumption. Only a moment later she was answered when Marguerite screamed, and then began to squeal with laughter, followed by Erik's enthusiastic and energetic exclamations.  
  
"Breakfast is almost ready!" She called, managing to make her voice bellow. Reaching up, she took care of an itch behind her ear, and then glanced at her reflection in the window over the sink. It was still raining from the night before, and the sky was nearly black despite the late hour. It allowed her to see herself quite easily. Her dark hair was mussed, although she'd combed it that morning, and pinned it atop her head. She looked scraggly. There was a bit of flour on her right cheek, which she quickly wiped off.  
  
"Coming Mama!" Marguerite called from the top of the stairs, her voice echoing back into the kitchen.  
  
"That's what you think, Mademoiselle!" Erik's voice boomed after hers in mock severity, and there was an abrupt THUMP from somewhere by the top of the stairs. Marguerite had dissolved to giggles again, laughing as though she couldn't stop herself no matter how hard she tried.  
  
Madeline chuckled, shaking her head as she turned to take care of the pancakes, which were nearly burned. She piled them onto a plate quite a bit larger than was usual, and brought it quickly over to the table. The muffins Fleur had helped her mix were now cooking in the oven, and would be ready for lunch. It was a favorite part of the meal in the middle of the few days they shared together, although she didn't know why.  
  
"Erik, are you killing my daughter up there?" She called, moving down the hallway as she wiped her hands on her apron. She stood at the bottom of the stairs to see Marguerite's little feet dangling over the top step, donned in black velvet shoes. "You know that you aren't allowed to do that in the house!"  
  
Erik laughed, and appeared over the edge of the stairs, smiling down at her, his face a bit flushed. In his arms was an even redder Marguerite, still giggling. Erik had both of his hands in the shape of claws, and was 'tearing' at her belly and chest.  
  
"Does that include tickling to death?" He asked, finally slowing down to let her stand up. Marguerite put her arms about him, hugging him excitedly, and he smiled, rubbing her back while she calmed down. Madeline nodded to him in mock severity, and he made a playful face. "Oh, well, you certainly aren't any fun."  
  
"Hungry?" She asked, ignoring him. Erik stood, wearing a red silk shirt with billowy sleeves, and snug black pants with high-topped shoes.  
  
"Always." He replied jovially, picking Marguerite up and carrying her down the stairs. "Here, I have a present for you." He deposited Marguerite into Madeline's arms, and then continued past her. "Where's Fleur?"  
  
"I believe she's in the parlor." Madeline said, chuckling as she let Marguerite drop to her feet on the floor, wearing a lovely powder blue dress. "She's been tinkering on that piano with every chance she gets."  
  
Erik stopped; looking back at her with somewhat startled eyes.  
  
"Has she?" He asked. "Maybe I should give her lessons."  
  
"I think she'd like that."  
  
He nodded with a smile, and moved towards the parlor, opening the door a crack to see that Fleur was, indeed, trying to play a few melodies on the brand new grand piano he'd recently acquired. She was actually succeeding in making a few very melodic phrases and beautiful chords. Trying not to be noticed, he stepped into the room. Yet Fleur was very alert, and she looked up immediately, her hands jerking away from the keys. She stood and looked down as though she'd been caught doing something bad.  
  
"Oh, it's all right, Cherie." He said gently, moving across the room to her. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder. "Come on. It's okay. You're welcome to play anytime that you wish."  
  
She smiled up at him, and then took his hand between her own, kissing his knuckles like she'd seen him do to other ladies numerous times. Other ladies, of course, consisted only of Christine and Isabelle. Smiling, Erik leaned down to kiss her forehead, cupping the back of her head in his palm while he did so.  
  
"Shall we go to breakfast, ma petite beauty?"  
  
Fleur smiled up at him brightly, and nodded, letting him hold onto her hand as they moved together along the carpeted floor, and out into the hallway. When she smelled the pancakes and sausage that her mother was just then placing on the table, her steps quickened. Erik peered inward curiously to see what else their meal consisted of. Tea, juice, milk, pancakes, sausage, and even scrambled eggs occupied the medium sized table, along with five place settings - one that was already taken up by Gerard and his second bowl of oatmeal.  
  
He looked up with sharp blue eyes - which Madeline had explained had been the color of his fathers eyes - somewhat covered by a mop of strawberry- blonde curls. Again, that was a trait that he'd gotten from his father. Smiling, he reached up in a wave towards Erik.  
  
"Papa!" He greeted happily, and motioned wildly to the place setting at his side. He was just beginning to form his own bond with Erik, and had taken to calling him the same name that Marguerite called him. He didn't seem to exactly realize at his age that Papa was a title, rather name a name, but what did it matter? Erik wanted to be a father to him.  
  
"All right. Le petite." He said with a smile, moving around the chairs that Marguerite and Fleur occupied, sitting beside the tot amiably. Gerard bounced in his chair happily, and then went back to eating his oatmeal in contentment. The boy wasn't much for many words. He seemed to be learning speech slower than most children, but he understood all words almost perfectly.  
  
The meal went by as most of them did. Erik and Madeline said very little to one another. They didn't really need words as their one connection was the children, and the children did a great deal of the talking for them. All it took for Erik and Madeline was a single look. The children occupied the time asking questions and telling stories the best they could of things that had happened most recently to them.  
  
Marguerite told her mother about the 'funny looking' man who had visited Erik in the dressing room the previous night, and of course Erik had needed to explain to her that Nadir was from another country, and that was why he looked so different. He also had to explain to Madeline that Nadir was a friend who went way back with him, though of course couldn't say how far back. He then mentioned that Nadir could possibly be stopping by that day, and Madeline accepted it all without more than a nod.  
  
//////////////---------------////////////////////  
  
"Papa, Fleur is trying to tell you something!" Erik turned around, still holding a dish in one hand as he dried it for Madeline. He tried to help out with the chores whenever he could, so he wouldn't seem like the typical 'man'. He didn't like the image of the tyrannical man one bit, and wasn't about to become one of them.  
  
Looking down, he noticed that Marguerite and Fleur stood in front of him, one in a green dress, and one in blue. The one in green had her hands in front of her at about chest height, close to her body, and was waggling them wildly. Almost as though she were drumming them against a table.  
  
"Piano?" He asked softly. "You want me to teach you now?"  
  
Fleur nodded, smiling with pleasure that he'd understood a sign she was using for the very first time. Erik glanced behind him towards the sink, seeing that Madeline was almost totally through with the dishes.  
  
"Well; I suppose it couldn't hurt." He smiled down to her gently. "All right, your mother can finish up here, I think." Putting away the dish he had just been drying, he led Fleur by the hand towards the parlor. He'd just opened the door when a knock came from the front of the house.  
  
"Erik - could you get that please?" Madeline called from the kitchen, and he sighed.  
  
"Just a moment, Fleur. All right?" She nodded patiently, and he went to open the front door, almost forgetting to unlock it first. He still wasn't used to having to lock his front door.  
  
"Good morning, Erik."  
  
Nadir stood outside, an umbrella over his head, wearing some old clothes that he recognized from their days together in Persia. He looked tired, and worn, but was in much better shape than he'd been in the night before. Then again, he'd still been in great shock the night before. Erik nodded to him, and backed into the house.  
  
"Come in, Nadir." He said politely. "I'm glad you're here, but Fleur isn't going to be pleased. I was just about to give her her very first piano lesson."  
  
"Fleur?" Nadir replied curiously, looking about. His eyes caught glimpse of the mute twin as she peeked at him from around the door of the parlor. "Oh . . . is that what her name is then?"  
  
"She's the twin sister of the girl you met last night." He explained. "Her name is Marguerite. Fleur cannot speak, and she's quite a bit shyer. Come on out, ma Cherie. He isn't going to hurt you. I told you at breakfast. Nadir is a very old friend of mine."  
  
"You enjoy that term now that you look that age, don't you?" Nadir chuckled. "Hello, Fleur. I'm very happy to meet you." He bowed to the little one politely, able to tell that she had grown used to such treatment since meeting Erik. She smiled, blushed, and then hid in the parlor again. Nadir stood, and turned to Erik. "So when are you going to tell me what happened?"  
  
"I don't know exactly what happened myself." Erik said in a low whisper. "They have no idea, Nadir. I'd rather not speak of it when I'm with them. It might disturb them."  
  
"Of course." Nadir said with a knowing smile. His eyes traveled over Erik's shoulder, and Erik turned slowly to see Madeline standing with Marguerite and Gerard at her sides.  
  
"This is my family, Nadir." Erik introduced softly. "Well . . . more or less. As you can see, Marguerite is Fleur's twin sister. Gerard is their little brother, and Madeline is their mother. This is my friend Nadir."  
  
"Hello." Marguerite said, quite obviously remembering him from the night before. Gerard sort of just looked at him in confusion, and Madeline stepped forward to shake his hand.  
  
"It's good to meet you, Monsieur." She greeted. "I've met no one from Erik's past before. Well . . . except for Mademoiselle Daaé. I understand that they knew each other before I met him. The only other person I know of as Erik's friend is Mademoiselle Develõngê."  
  
"Who?" Nadir looked at Erik quizzically. Laughing, Erik shook his head.  
  
"A young lady I was asked to give lessons to." He explained. "A girl I've grown quite fond of."  
  
"A woman who is very, very fond of our dear Erik." Madeline insisted. "I'm sure he'll tell you the whole story at some point. The girl threw herself at him from what I understand."  
  
"Oh, Madeline! Really!" Erik scolded, laughing. "Come, Nadir. We'll sit in the parlor. I'm sure that Madeline would be kind enough to make you some tea?" He looked to Madeline questioningly. It was very obviously a request, certainly not anything she would be expected to do if she didn't so wish.  
  
"Yes, of course." She agreed, and returned to the kitchen with Gerard. Marguerite, on the other hand, came up to Erik and put her arms around him. Her head was just above his elbow now. She'd grown more than Fleur had in the past months.  
  
"I remember you." She said pointedly to Nadir. "I saw you last night."  
  
"Yes, you did." Nadir agreed. "How are you, Mademoiselle?"  
  
"I'd be better if Erik didn't have to see Isabelle anymore." She stated.  
  
Erik frowned.  
  
"I thought we'd settled that." He murmured softly, looking up to Nadir. He said in a very quiet voice, which only Nadir might hear: "She has a crush on me and is jealous of my lady friend."  
  
"Ah, I see." Nadir said, nodding. They moved quietly into the parlor together, Marguerite clinging to Erik's side, and Fleur again tinkering at the piano.  
  
//////-----------////////////////  
  
"You seriously don't know how it actually happened?" Nadir stared at Erik in amazement. Now that Marguerite and Fleur were in the kitchen helping Madeline prepare supper for the six of them, Erik had been given the chance to tell his friend about his odd transformation.  
  
"I'm a genius of the illusion of magic, Nadir, not of magic itself." He replied. "I understand the theories of it, but I can't think of how this might have happened. The faire tales don't exactly tell you HOW the magic turned the frog into a prince. It just says that it does."  
  
Nadir shook his head, dumbfounded.  
  
"You and Christine must be friends now?" He asked, making Nadir laugh. "What about Raoul?"  
  
"I can tolerate him." Erik chuckled. "He's still a foolish boy, but I cannot help it anymore than he can. She asked me to give her away at their wedding."  
  
"Will you?"  
  
"I'll do anything that Christine asks of me. It will be an honor to give her away."  
  
Nadir looked down at the tea, which had grown cool in its cup. He'd had so much today while they simply sat and talked that he was rather sick of the taste.  
  
"Tell me about Isabelle." He finally entreated.  
  
"She's very bold, upfront, and beautiful." Erik said simply. "She has an extremely pleasing singing voice, and affectionate and flirtatious nature. A few days ago she attempted to seduce me. That's when I realized that she's loved me for quite some time, and I finally let myself realize that I love her too. She failed in seducing me, but only because I refused to dishonor her."  
  
"She's an upper-class woman, isn't she?" Nadir asked quietly. "I can't imagine a lower-class or middle-class woman having voice lessons by a private coach very easily."  
  
"Her parents are larger patrons of the opera than Raoul." Erik stated. "She's also engaged . . . which of course causes a large dilemma. We'll solve it on our own, eventually. Even if she must marry this man, at least she'll know I loved her."  
  
"At least." Nadir was staring at him oddly now. Suspiciously. "You mean you'd give her up so easily?"  
  
"Oh, Hell no!" Erik defended himself immediately. "Not without one devil of a fight! I simply will not be dishonorable. If her parents will not let us court and marry, and she doesn't wish to risk going against their wishes, then so be it. Yet if perhaps there's a chance she loves me enough to ignore their wishes, then I will do everything in my power to keep her."  
  
"You're learning." Nadir chuckled. "Didn't I tell you that you were a real man?"  
  
"Oh, don't be sentimental, you old fool." Erik laughed, shaking his head. "Come now. I'm going to see if I can help them in the kitchen. You're welcome to continue these conversations with me in there." He stood up and walked out of the room without waiting for a reply. 


	19. Ceremony

N/A: Ingenious? Now you've really gone to far Desolator!!! Thank you! Thank you everybody!  
  
The song I found here: www.wsu.edu:8080/~brians/love-in-the- arts/medieval.html Don't worry, the translations sucks just a wee-bit. The French version is on the website, and I'm sure the grammar is better when sung in French!  
  
//////////////------------//////////////////////  
  
Chapter 19: Ceremony  
  
The wedding had been nothing short of breath taking when May arrived, and Christine became the Vicomtess de Chagney. Her gown looked as though it belonged to a princess, as the bodice was clustered with almost miniscule diamonds, and she wore a tiara of rhinestones and diamond accents. The veils accentuated the tiara and dress just that much more. Erik doubted he'd ever seen Christine looking so beautiful.  
  
He even had slight reason to admire the Vicomte that day. Raoul looked quite strapping in his tuxedo with navy blue overcoat and white rose in the breast pocket. His hair had been neatly trimmed, and his face smoothly shaved. The excited nervousness in his eyes, Erik had to agree with all of the other guests, was actually quite touching. Everyone could see that Raoul truly did love Christine, and that in itself had to be admired.  
  
The day was not without its' sadness for Erik. After all, he was giving away the first woman he had ever truly loved, with all of his heart and soul, to another man. Also, almost all of the aristocracy attended the ceremony, along with most of the Opera House staff. This meant that Erik had the chance to spend the entire day and evening with all of his favorite ladies: Isabelle, Christine, Marguerite, Fleur, and Madeline. The three latter ladies of his household had accompanied him as his companion guests, and Isabelle had accompanied her mother, father, and the man who was apparently still her fiancée.  
  
Erik and Isabelle had yet to speak to her parents about their secret courtship. For two months now, they had been meeting one another for long walks before and after vocal lessons, and she would come visit whenever she could get away from the estate without a chaperone. Yet, she was quite honestly terrified of her fathers' reaction should she tell him her true feelings for her voice instructor. If he disapproved, as she feared he would, then she would no longer be allowed to even have lessons with him, and would be taken from him entirely. Erik did not try too hard to make her speak to either of her parents because he, too, was afraid of losing her.  
  
While Erik was playing the church organ and then giving the bride away, he kept glancing over the crowd to find Isabelle next to quite a distinguished looking gentleman with salt and pepper like hair, who was obviously a good deal older than she was. Erik knew that he was, of course, about the man's same age. Yet he thought it would be terrible if she had to suffer being married to the man she didn't love. Besides, he had a whole new life ahead of him. He might have knowledge of his true age, but he certainly didn't appear it. He wasn't likely to die within a decade of his marriage to Isabelle, leaving her widowed and alone.  
  
"Erik . . .? Erik; are you quite all right?"  
  
He looked quietly over to Christine after the wedding ceremony, as the bride and groom met with their guests outside as they filtered out of the church. He gave her a tender smile, and lightly touched her cheek, kissing her forehead through her veil. He said nothing, which certainly couldn't have been very reassuring to her, yet she allowed him to continue by as a crowd of girls from the Opera House swarmed over to her, almost pushing Erik right out of their way.  
  
He later looked through the crowds of guests on the de Chagney estate as the reception took place. It was a fine warm day for the month, and everyone was outside for the banquet that had been set under canopied tarps. There were a great many of these tarps, which had plenty of large tables beneath them. One very large circus sized tent in particular held a small orchestra which played constantly, taking only breaks that were short and far between so that the guests might dance. He kept seeing one of the twins or Madeline, or the bride and groom as they continued to play host and hostess. Yet there seemed to be no Isabelle.  
  
Giving up with a heavy sigh, Erik went into one of the banquet tents and picked himself a plate of some delicacies that only the aristocracy like Raoul could possibly have hoped to afford. He knew that Isabelle and her family had to be there. Isabelle had told him several days before that they planned on attending the reception. In so many hundreds of wedding guests, he must have overlooked them. He was quite certain that she would find him eventually, if he continued to be blind to her presence.  
  
"Monsieur?"  
  
Looking up from his plate as he sat alone at one of the tables, he saw a waiter with a tray of full champagne glasses balanced on one hand. That wasn't what took Erik's surprise, though. It was the envelope that he held in his free hand. Envelopes had been haunting him recently, much like he'd often haunted the managers' office with the letters from the Opera Ghost. He simply found them everywhere, and always addressed to him. Whether or not they were good or bad didn't matter to Erik. The fact was that he was known now. He couldn't escape them.  
  
"What is it?" He asked politely, managing to keep the melancholy from his voice. How strange that he could feel so depressed, as though he were dependant on the presence of one woman!  
  
"Are you Monsieur Genié?" The waiter asked cautiously. Erik sighed.  
  
"You know very well that I am." He replied shortly. "I've been a guest here often enough, haven't I?"  
  
The man bristled, but said nothing in retort.  
  
"This is for you." He handed over the letter, and Erik snatched it, making the man startle and turn to hurry off without waiting for any possible replies. His duty was complete. He wasn't about to deal with a cross man who had the aura of danger about him when he was angry.  
  
Erik tore the envelope open, not liking how this felt. To have a letter sent him, when he was already surrounded by almost everyone he knew - save Nadir - was unnerving. Who could possibly be writing to him?  
  
  
  
'Monsieur,  
  
I am afraid to tell you that there has been a severe accident. The Develõngê's carriage and all occupants therein have been overturned on the road. The reason for this is yet unknown. It is suspected that the driver lost control of the carriage, or the horse bolted and it toppled over.  
  
Mlle Develõngê was seriously injured, as was her mother. Monsieur Farcèur died in the accident, and her father has received a serious concussion and a broken wrist. Although as I write this message to you, Mlle is unconscious, she expressed wishes to see you through a delirium by calling out your name several times. Monsieur Develõngê assumes that you are the 'Erik' she calls for.  
  
Please come to L'Hôspital immediately. Although uncertain as to whether or not Mlle will awaken, I am quite sure she would wish you to be there when she awoke.  
  
Reguards,  
  
Dr. Marius Lefeur'  
  
  
  
Erik leapt to his feet immediately, dropping the note as he moved. He pushed his way almost rudely through the crowds he thought were blocking his passage to his carriage. Yet then he had to stop and think about what it was he was doing. If he didn't calm down immediately he was going to get himself nowhere. Turning, he was lucky enough to find Madeline immediately, surrounded by fine gentlemanly looking men who were undoubtedly aristocratic guests of the Vicomte. He moved over to her quickly, interrupting their conversation without a word by taking her arm and pulling her insistently to the side.  
  
"Madeline, Isabelle and her family are hurt." He said in a rush of words. "I want you to have Christine or Raoul call a cab when you are ready to go home." Fishing into his pockets, he pulled out a wad of notes, and handed them to her. She glanced around nervously, and then pushed them into the drawstring bag at her side. "I don't know when I will be home. Tell Marguerite I'm sorry if I'm not there to tuck her into bed."  
  
Madeline didn't even have time to get a word in, although she tried desperately. Erik was off and running towards the front of the property, making a few heads turn in curiosity and disgust at such a show of 'unnecessary' hurrying. Yet he was far beyond caring. No man in such a state would care what others thought of him. No man would care about being either rude or polite. He wouldn't even go tell Christine he was leaving. He couldn't. He didn't have the time. Summoning a coach, he quickly paid them very well to take him into town, not caring who the carriage belonged to or whether or not they might need it in short time. When he was at the hospital, the carriage could return to the estate and all would be well for the owners of it.  
  
He didn't care about anything or anyone at that moment, except for Isabelle. All he cared about was getting to her.  
  
//////////------------///////////////////  
  
"Thank you for coming so promptly." Dr. Lefeur greeted Erik just outside of a room filled with beds all occupied by the injured. Standing beside him was Isabelle's father, Monsieur Develõngê, his arm in a cast, and his head wrapped in a bandage. Apparently, his concussion was healing well; although the doctor seemed annoyed the man was up and about already. "We didn't know what else to do about the situation. We simply thought it was best that if indeed she wanted you that you came to her. It could help."  
  
"I certainly hope so." Erik agreed. "Tell me what happened to her."  
  
"Just tell me one thing." Isabelle's father demanded. "Exactly why would se call for you? Her fiancé just died in the same accident. Why wouldn't she be calling for him?"  
  
Erik couldn't help but smirk.  
  
"Because she doesn't love him, nor did she want to marry him." He said simply. "She's confided a great deal in me, Monsieur."  
  
"Have you dared to make advances on my daughter?" Monsieur challenged. Erik looked at him, insulted.  
  
"Only of the most respectful kind." He confessed. "She's returned them. Now, please. That isn't half so important now as your daughters' well being." He turned to Dr. Lefeur once more. "Will you please tell me her injuries?"  
  
"Her wrists are broken. Isabelle seemed to have some skull damage as well. The skin was split in the very least. She's needed stitches all over her body because of where the stones of the road cut into her." The doctor was mercifully frank with him. "Some of the cuts were very deep. That is what concerned me the most. She'd lost so much blood. When I sent for you, her fate was far more uncertain than it is right now. At least now she has a chance."  
  
"I'd like to see her, please." Erik continued, being just as politely frank. Isabelle's father bristled indignantly.  
  
"Now see here -"  
  
"Monsieur!" Erik interrupted angrily, his rage almost at the boiling point instantly. "We are talking about the young woman I happen to be in love with! Either we can sit here arguing, or you can let me in to sit by her side when she needs me!"  
  
Her father was struck silent by his outburst. He watched Erik quietly, carefully.  
  
The doctor watched the exchange for several long moments, and then nodded, motioning for Erik to follow him into the crowded corridor of occupied beds. Only of few people in the ward seemed seriously injured or comatose. As irony would have it, Isabelle's bed was the last on the left, a few feet away from the window that took up the entire upper half of the far wall.  
  
Erik pulled up the chair that was kept at the foot of her bed, and moved to sit very near to her, covering her hands, which were bound in the cast meant to heal her wrists. She looked a mess, the exposed skin of her arms, shoulders, throat, and face all stitched up in places. Luckily for her future, her face did not seem to have many stitches at all, and Erik assumed that the scars would probably be almost totally unnoticeable once she had healed. A great deal of the rest of her was bruised, and probably would have been sore if she were conscious.  
  
"Isabelle . . ." He whispered softly, leaning down so that his mouth was only a few inches away from her ear. "My dearest . . . You're going to be all right. Do you hear me? You must try and get well. Try and wake up."  
  
There was no reply from her motionless form. He hadn't expected there to be. Yet at one time he had pulled Nadir from the very brink of death using nothing more than the sound of his voice. Some time after that, Nadir's own son had brought Erik back from the brink while he was in a coma, merely by speaking to his unconscious form. It had taken days in both cases for their bodies to heal. Yet just the power of the subconscious mind was something he still had yet to totally grasp. Isabelle was a strong young woman, and he had no doubt speaking these words to her would be help in itself.  
  
He prayed that his voice could do what it had for Nadir. He needed desperately to draw Isabelle back from wherever she was being held prisoner by her unconsciousness. He would make his voice have that power. Kissing a patch of unharmed skin by her temple, just beneath the bandage that covered the whole of her scalp, he let out a long, trembling breath, and then began to sing.  
  
"I want to stay faithful, guard your honor. Seek peace, obey, fear, serve and honor you, until death, peerless lady. For I love you so much, truly, that one could sooner dry up the sea and hold back its' waves, thank I could constrain myself from loving you. Without falsehood; for my thoughts, my memories, my pleasures, and desires are perpetually of you, who I cannot leave or even briefly forget. There is no joy or pleasure, or any other gold that could feel, or imagine which does not seem to me whenever your sweetness wants to sweeten.  
  
Therefore I want to praise and adore and fear you. Suffer everything, experience everything, endure everything, more than I desire any reward. I want to stay faithful.  
  
You are the true sapphire that can heal and end all my sufferings. The ruby that brings rejoicing: the ruby to brighten and comfort the heart. Your speech, your looks, your bearing, make one flee, and hate, and detest all vice, and cherish and desire all that is good. I want to stay faithful."  
  
It was a medieval song, and it somehow described to her a bit of how he felt. Yet that wasn't entirely how he felt. There were no longer words to describe the relationship that had formed between them. He was staring down at her battered face mournfully, wishing she'd open her eyes so he could see the amethyst that God had placed in her irises.  
  
The entire corridor had gone quiet. Those who had been moaning and in pain for days, had calmed down at the sound of Erik's soft voice. Those who were dying seemed to have found some peace around them. His voice had such an effect that even the doctors and nurses wandering the ward, checking up on their patients, had come to the end of the corridor to look inwards at him. Yet when he grew silent they walked off as though in a total daze. Only Isabelle's father remained staring at him. He'd followed him to the bed from the very beginning.  
  
"Monsieur Genié . . . " Monsieur Develõngê looked utterly stunned, and even humbled. The words to the song Erik had sung did not seem like rubbish to him. He seemed to understand utterly what the song had been meant to say. " . . . Forgive me for being so harsh on you."  
  
Erik turned to look up at him slowly.  
  
"It's very obvious that you love my daughter. I didn't mean any offense when you admitted to caring for her. I just want what is best for her."  
  
"I know." Erik whispered. "I would wish the same thing for my friends little girls. They are my daughters. Not literally, of course, but in my heart they are my daughters. Yet I will always want them to marry out of love. Even if they fall in love with a poor man, I will not keep them away from their loved one. If it is what they truly wish, then they shall have it."  
  
"Nor will I . . . if she wakes up, Monsieur." Her father replied quietly, making Erik's eyes widen a little. "If she wants you."  
  
"She didn't know how to tell you about us." Erik told him quietly. "We thought you'd take her away from me."  
  
"I might have." He admitted. "Were it not for a time like this, I wouldn't have given you a chance. I wonder if you can forgive me for that. I normally do not think myself the better of those who are not so well-off."  
  
"I understand."  
  
Erik leaned down, kissing Isabelle's temple again gently, repeatedly.  
  
"Come back, my sweet." He breathed. "Please? Come back and be my wife." 


	20. Stand

Chapter 20:  
  
Weeks passed. Isabelle's mother never awoke from the unconscious state she'd been found in after the accident that occurred on Christine and Raoul's wedding day. She's slipped from a state of simple unconsciousness, into a coma, and then passed away about a week after the accident. Monsieur Develõngê had been rightly overcome with grief, and seldom visited the hospital to see the only surviving relative of his that lived in France. Although he meant well in his heart, he could not get over the self-pity he felt at losing his wife, and having his daughter in an apparent coma.  
  
Erik, however, never failed to be at her side. He took nearly a month of leave from the Opera so that he might remain by her side in case she should awaken. Although he struggled to make time for his beautiful children, Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard, it was difficult to pry himself away from Isabelle's side. Before there was any sign she'd awaken, Isabelle's bandages were removed from her head, and a great many of her stitches were removed. Only the casts remained on her broken wrists. The more time that passed, the more concerned doctors became of her ever recovering. They told Erik not to hope for her revival, and that even if she might one day open her eyes, who knew what kind of damage might have been done to her mentality.  
  
He never listened to anything the doctors said. He had some thirty years more experience in any field regarding anatomy and the brain. The young doctor, Monsieur Marius, who took care of Isabelle's daily needs, and saw to it a healthy amount of pain medication was injected into her body at a bi-daily rate, was a young man, who didn't have nearly half as much experience with the ill as Erik himself had. He hadn't lived in, or wandered around, slums his entire life. He hadn't saved two more than twelve people of dying from mysterious illnesses the first time he experimented with herbal medication. Erik adamantly refused to accept that perhaps Isabelle would not wake up. He sang to her every day, and spoke to her every day.  
  
When he stared returning to rehearsals and performances at the Opera, he was quite surprised to find that Christine was still on her honeymoon through Europe with Raoul. The woman who was taking her place during her absence was a fine young singer, with an ambitious personality and kind countenance. Yet Erik certainly found nothing very interesting about her. He gave her three weeks before he suspected she would become the Prima Donna of the Opera. Not by title, but by attitude. Another La Carlotta for the company to deal with once success got to her head.  
  
Marguerite was the only light in his life as the weeks turned into a time period of four months. He often took her with him to visit Isabelle, and they would have conversations with each other as though Isabelle could listen in on them, and find some joy out of the child's antics. Fleur was often with them as well, yet she was so quiet and reserved that Erik could sometimes come frighteningly close to forgetting that she existed. He spent almost every moment of free time in the hospital, when he wasn't at the Opera, and so he was not giving Fleur her piano lessons. That had been the little amount of time that had been only theirs, and they had both treasured it for the short time it had existed.  
  
Yet now Erik found it hard to concentrate on anything when he was being pushed around at the Opera House, and then lectured at by doctors who didn't want his hopes to be too high at the hospital. Once, when the doctor had been off duty and Erik had gone to see her, a nurse had attempted to turn him away because he wasn't an immediate member of her family.  
  
She never returned to the hospital once she'd learned how terrible his rage could be. Most certainly he hadn't hurt her. He hadn't even laid a finger on her. Yet his presence alone, thrumming with power and rage and terrible unleashed violence, had frightened her well out of his path.  
  
No one in the hospital tried to keep him away from Isabelle after that.  
  
When the doctor finally removed the heavy casts on her wrists to replace them with much smaller ones to make certain she wouldn't - if ever she awoke - thrash about in confusion as to where she was, Erik went out and bought a ring to fit on her left wedding finger. It was dainty, rather like she was. On a tiny setting was a small tanzanite gemstone in the shape of a heart, surrounded by somewhat smaller diamonds. When he'd placed it on her finger, Madeline and all three of her children had been with him. He'd gently stroked back Isabelle's hair, and kissed her cheek softly.  
  
"I'll wait forever, my dearest." He breathed. "You know that. I'll wait forever."  
  
That evening was the four-month anniversary of the accident, and the marriage of Christine and Raoul. He hadn't left her all of that night, and had kissed Marguerite and the others good-bye from where he sat beside her. The following day, after managing to doze in the chair for a couple of hours, he went straight to the Opera House, buying a bit of food on the way in order to make certain he would pass out halfway through the day.  
  
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"Erik . . ."  
  
Moaning softly, she was first aware of how parched her lips and throat was. Then she was aware of a little light coming from somewhere off to her left, which she would later learn came from an oil lamp on a table beside the bed she lay on, the wick kept down low. When her eyes opened, the already very dim light hurt her eyes, but only for a few moments. To her right and ahead of her were white curtains of soft cotton, which swayed gently under a phantom breeze. Her eyes flitted slowly to the left, and all she could see was blackness. It was one great window. She couldn't tell that it only took up the upper half of the wall.  
  
Grimacing, she shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, confused at the moment of where she was. She remembered last being at a wedding with her parents and despicable fiancé. Yet she couldn't remember the reception. She'd wanted to sneak off with Erik for a couple of hours, and perhaps get lost in the crowd with him for a while. What had kept them from dancing together at the wedding reception? Had something happened?  
  
"Erik . . .?" She called again, trying desperately to lick at her lips and inner cheeks to wet them. There were footsteps on the other side of the curtain, and it parted to show a young woman wearing the severe uniform of a nurse. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back and tucked up under the mandatory cap, and she peered in at her in utter astonishment.  
  
"Mademoiselle Develõngê!" She gasped softly. "Oh, Mon Dieu! You're awake!"  
  
"Yes . . ." Isabelle replied in a guttural voice, clearing her throat violently. "What am I doing here?"  
  
"I'll go get the doctor!" The nurse exclaimed, as though she hadn't heard Isabelle speak.  
  
"No." She protested. Yet, it was too late. The nurse was gone, and the curtain was back in place as though it hadn't moved. Isabelle tried to sit up slowly, and found that she felt far too tired and weak to do so. Sighing, she collapsed back onto the bed. She wondered where Erik was. Although she had no memory of the accident, something told her he'd just been there. It was as though he'd just spoken to her less than five minutes earlier, and then vanished just as she opened her eyes. She could smell his presence there.  
  
When the curtain opened again, a rather fine looking gentleman who appeared to be about thirty came into the cubicle where she lay, wearing a waist- length white coat that made him somewhat recognizable as a doctor. It was the uniform that all doctors were required to wear in most hospitals in France. Why they had to wear them, she didn't know. They simply had to. The doctor came in smiling at her with the softest blue eyes imaginable, somewhat hidden behind the bangs of unkempt black hair.  
  
"Good evening, Mademoiselle. I am your doctor, Marius Lefeur." He said gently, beginning an apparent examination of her body that Isabelle found quite tedious and annoying. "Can you tell me who you are?"  
  
"Isabelle Develõngê." She told him obediently. By now it was obvious she'd been hurt in some way and didn't remember it, and he was trying to find out if anything was wrong with her.  
  
"How old are you, Mademoiselle?"  
  
"I'm eighteen." She said quietly. This task was so tedious. The doctor smiled gently at her.  
  
"The date?"  
  
"May 17th, 1882." Sighing once more, she glanced around as he stood up, nodding a bit grimly.  
  
"Well, at least you remember when you were last awake." He said. My dear, the date is now November 20th. You've been in a coma for the past six months."  
  
Isabelle's eyes widened.  
  
"What happened?" She demanded. "Where's Erik? I want Erik here."  
  
"I knew you would. You were calling for him when you were found." Doctor Lefeur said in a tender voice. "We'll have a message sent to him, and he'll come immediately. I have no doubt of that. He's never missed a single day of visiting you for at least three hours. Sometimes he didn't leave all night."  
  
"What happened to me?" She demanded again. "Where are my mother and father?"  
  
The doctor looked towards his nurse a bit anxiously, who simply looked away from him.  
  
"Your father is well. He had a broken arm, but it is fully healed now. Your mother . . . You were all in an accident the day of the Vicomte de Changey's wedding."  
  
Isabelle closed her eyes, her body shuddering. Alarmed, the doctor reached out to touch her shoulder, and she shrugged him away violently.  
  
"Don't touch me." She spat. "Is . . . is my mother dead?"  
  
There was another long silence. Slowly, Isabelle opened her eyes to look squarely at her doctor, her gaze demanding. Quietly, sympathetically, he nodded.  
  
"God no . . ." She breathed, closing her eyes again and beginning to weep.  
  
"Your fiancé died as well." Doctor Lefeur sighed. "I am so very sorry, Mademoiselle." There was a long pause. No one tried to touch her again. "Messages have been sent to Erik, and to your father. I'm sure they will both be here shortly."  
  
She was left alone with her grief, and she wept for nearly an hour before falling asleep in exhaustion. It couldn't have been long after that when she felt a very familiar presence looming over her bedside. Opening her eyes slowly, she could see Erik staring down at her in wonder. She smiled at him faintly, miserably, and he kneeled down to take her hand, kissing her knuckles frantically but tenderly. He was trying so very hard to be gentle. It seemed he didn't know what to say. Yet it was the first time that Isabelle noticed the ring on her hand. Pulling her fingers gently from his grasp, she looked down to the ring curiously.  
  
"Erik, what took you so long?" She whispered without accusation. She wanted to ask about the ring, which she'd never seen before. Yet she was not overly concerned about it at the time. Obviously it was a gift someone had put on her finger while she was unconscious. It could be from anyone, and mean any number of things.  
  
"I was at the Opera, Cherie." He explained quietly. "The messenger did not dare to interrupt the show in the middle of an act. He waited until the end of it to come and tell me you were awake."  
  
"My father should be here soon." She noted softly, looking up at him. "Erik, my fiancé . . ."  
  
"Yes, I know. I know everything." He said gently. "Does it hurt to know he's gone?"  
  
"No." She replied. Finally, she looked up from the ring. He'd been staring at it as well, and now met her gaze anxiously, his eyes very near hers. She hadn't realized he'd drawn himself so close. "If you've been here so often, maybe my father knows about us."  
  
"He does." Erik agreed. "The day of the accident, your father learned everything. He wasn't happy at first . . . but he must have seen how much I loved you. We barely left the hospital until . . . until your mother passed on. Then he came no more. I think it hurt him too much. I think he was afraid of watching you slip away too."  
  
"He doesn't know how often you've been here then."  
  
"No." Erik reached out, caressing the back of her hand ever so softly, as though he feared causing her pain. His fingertips brushed over her apparently new ring, and his amber-hued eyes returned to the glittering gems. "I gave this to you two months ago. It was a vow to you, and to myself, that I would wait for you to wake up no matter how long it took. I would have waited forever."  
  
"Waited for what?" She asked, stunned. "For me?"  
  
"Yes." He breathed. "I would have waited an eternity for you. I wanted you to wake up, and know that I was still yours. The day your father saw just how much I loved you . . . I think he blessed our relationship. That day I whispered that you had to try and wake up so you might become my bride."  
  
Erik had never rambled like this. Usually when he could not think of what to say, or could not put something into the right words, he was silent. Now, it seemed that he simply could not be quiet at all. He kept on talking, almost droning on. Finally, her hand lifted, now without a cast, and gently touched his cheek. He kissed her palm reverently.  
  
"Isabelle . . . Isabelle, I love you." He confessed gently, saying it aloud to her for the very first time. He'd replied to her confessions of love before with nods, or aborted sentences that made little or no commitment. It seemed that until now he hadn't been able to say them. Maybe now, having realized he might have never been given the chance to tell her straight out, he was not going to miss this second chance. "Isabelle, I want you to marry me."  
  
"Erik, you know I would love to marry you." She smiled up at him. "I want to marry you."  
  
Sighing, he leaned down to put his arm over her, and rested his face by the hollow of her throat, his face hidden from her. He was shaking slightly as she put her arms up around his shoulders affectionately. She said nothing, knowing he didn't want her to realize that he was crying. Yet she knew. She knew.  
  
"I knew they were wrong." He finally breathed. "I knew that they had to be wrong. You're strong. You've always been strong."  
  
///////-------////////////  
  
It was another forty-five minutes later before Isabelle's father arrived at the hospital. Erik was sitting gingerly on the edge of the hospital bed, and she was sitting up, leaning back on a great big pile of pillows. A tray with some warm food had been placed in front of her, and she was carefully eating her first meal in six months. He'd cried out for joy when he saw her, interrupting her conversation with Erik to embrace her and cover her face with soft kisses. It was his turn to cry for joy and relief.  
  
"My dear, I was so afraid . . ."  
  
The words sounded quite amazing to Isabelle. He had never been afraid of anything that she could tell in her entire life. He had never been the kind of father who sat up with his daughter reading to her before she went to bed, and kissed her forehead at breakfast in the morning. He'd always watched her with affection from a distance. Although Isabelle never once doubted that her father loved her, this was the first time in years that he'd shown her just how deep his love ran.  
  
"Father, Erik has asked me to marry him." She whispered when he had seemed to calm. The men in her life sat on either side of her, each holding one of her hands, her meal having been taken away by a nurse. "Please give us your blessing."  
  
"Anything you want, Izzy." He whispered gently, using his old pet name for her. "Anything at all that you want." He looked across the mattress to Erik. "When?"  
  
"I would say immediately, Monsieur." Erik confessed. "I don't want the chance to marry her to pass me by. Yet I want this to be done right. I want it to exceed every dream she's ever had of her wedding day." He looked towards Isabelle quietly. "A week after you leave the hospital, whenever that might be, we can be married. Surely a week would be enough time to prepare a wedding, don't you think, Monsieur? With your kind of money and influence, you can invite whomever you wish, and tell them the wedding will basically be on stand-by."  
  
"That sounds like a terrific idea." Isabelle said excitedly, taking Erik's hand tightly between both of hers. She smiled at him adoringly, and Erik just continued to watch her with solemnly loving eyes. Those wordless emotions passed through his eyes once more, and she understood his silence.  
  
"Then it will be arranged." Her father promised.  
  
"There are a couple of things I must insist on, before you make your plans, father." Isabelle said with sudden boldness. "I want Erik's live-in family to be in the ceremony. I want Marguerite and Fleur to be my flower girls. I want Madeline to be my maid of honor. I want little Gerard to be the ring bearer. I want everyone who Erik loves to be in this wedding."  
  
Erik looked away slowly, closing his eyes.  
  
"I think they would like that." He whispered. "They came here a great deal with me. They saw my silent proposal to you when I put that ring on your finger. All of us held conversations with you during all the time you were lying there."  
  
"All the more reason to have them in my wedding." She said proudly. "Who will be your best man, Erik?"  
  
He looked up at her with wide eyes, startled. He'd never actually thought about who might be in the wedding ceremony other than himself and Isabelle - when he dared to think of their marriage at all. Yet the void that had been in his mind was filled immediately, and he smiled, simply shaking his head.  
  
"Messieurs . . ." Doctor Lefeur came into the area quietly. "I am very sorry to interrupt you. Yet I must insist that you both go home to rest. You can't very well sit up all night with her. She still needs a great deal of rest, and surely Monsieur Erik, you've sat up enough times to be exhausted this week."  
  
Sighing, Erik shook his head. Yet the doctor was right. He was tired. Even having been very adamant about being near her every day, he had to admit it had been taking its' toll on him physically. He never got enough rest. Until that very moment, though, he hadn't even been aware of his exhaustion.  
  
"I suppose we shall leave you to your rest." He murmured, and gave her a gentle kiss on her cheek. He had never dared kiss her mouth, since the day she'd kissed him. He still would not dare to, even though they were engaged. He would not even risk dishonoring her by any of his actions. He wanted them to be married before he dare do anything at all. "Sleep well, my love."  
  
"Mon amour . . ." Isabelle whispered, stroking his cheek briefly. With a smile, he touched hers in return, and then hurried out before his heart could convince him to stay. She needed to rest, and he knew he would only keep her awake if he stayed. For the moment, he would have to wonder about how to ask Nadir to stand by his side when he married Isabelle. 


	21. Voeux

A/N: Did I tell you guys I have tickets to see Michael Crawford in "Dance of the Vampires"? I can't wait for January 18th, when I can wish him a happy 61st birthday! (It's on Jan 19th)  
  
BTW - I know I put just about every quote in French! I'll translate it at the bottom of the chapter!  
  
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Chapter 21: Voeux  
  
It was too early for a social visit. That was all Nadir was able to think as he nearly stumbled down the stairs of his Parisian apartment. Ten minutes beforehand he had been summoned by his servant, Darius, who claimed in a nervous temperament that he had a guest asking to see him. Nadir had little doubt as to his guests' identity, for Darius might have been the nervous type, but only one infidel could make him so nervous by his presence alone.  
  
Dressing quickly, he wondered why Erik had to come in the pre-dawn hours of a weekend. Surely he could visit any time on a Saturday or Sunday! Yet Nadir wasn't disturbed very much by the early awakening. It had been months since he'd spoken to Erik. Ever since just after the accident, It had been impossible to get a hold of him either outside of the Opera or Hospital,, and Nadir was not wont to go into the hospital. They reminded him too much of his dying son.  
  
Walking into the parlor, he wasn't all too surprised to see Erik had settled himself comfortably in a chair by the fireplace, which Darius had apparently just started a blaze inside. He stood, however, as though Nadir were the guest in his home, and stepped forward to shake his hand vigorously. Nadir had never seen the strange nervous expression on his face. It wasn't added with sorrow or rage, as it had always been before. Hell, he'd never known Erik to be nervous with any other emotion at all.  
  
"To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?" Nadir asked with a tired chuckle. Erik looked at him calmly for a long moment, and then motioned towards the fireplace questioningly. "Oh, by all means. Please sit. I don't mean to be such a shameful host, but I am a bit out of practice."  
  
"It's perfectly understandable, Nadir." Erik replied. For the first time in many months, Nadir had just heard him speak simple words. He'd seen and heard him performing at the Opera for the past five months. Yet without getting near him, he hadn't heard him speak more than a sentence. Together they sat by the fireplace, Erik in Nadir's preferred chair, and Nadir in a chair he had pulled up to sit opposite him. His few guests always sat in his own chair, especially Erik.  
  
"Have you come to tell me something?" He asked carefully. "You are all right, aren't you, Erik?"  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Erik assured him quickly, seeming to come out of a daze. "It's just that . . . I wanted to tell you . . . Isabelle woke from her coma last night."  
  
"Erik, that's wonderful." Nadir was quietly enthusiastic, smiling broadly. He knew how much his friend had suffered these past months. Moving from his home to the Opera and to the hospital. He had not gone anywhere else at all in the half year since the marriage of Christine and Raoul. Nadir had to admit that for a while he hadn't known about the accident. He thought Erik might have been absent so often from a depression of seeing Christine married. It was Madeline who had told him a week later what had happened. He hadn't, after all, been a guest at the de Chagney's wedding.  
  
"I want to ask you something, Nadir." Erik continued, clearing his throat uncharacteristically. Nadir wondered what could be wrong with the man, and swiftly stood to fetch him a brandy. When he came back to hand it over, Erik uttered a thank you, and then swallowed the sifter whole. "I asked Isabelle to marry me last night when she woke up. We have her fathers' blessing."  
  
Nadir sat back down slowly, watching his friend with growing concern. It was wonderful news that Erik was going to marry this young woman that he obviously loved very much. Yet what did that have to do with him coming to tell him so early in the morning? Was he in shock that it was finally going to work out for him?  
  
"Nadir, I want to just come right out and say this." He finally sighed, the brandy apparently having finally kicked in, giving him the nerve he so desperately seemed to need. "I would find it a tremendous offer if you would stand by my side when I marry Isabelle. Will you please be my best man?"  
  
He sat back with a heavy sigh, as though the wind had been knocked from him. Well, he certainly hadn't been expecting this. He never would have thought Erik might ask him such a thing. It startled him even more when he realized exactly how much being asked meant to him. He was a very old man, nearly seventy. He'd never had any friend like Erik before. Although friend wasn't usually the way he thought about Erik - it had usually been something more like fiend, even if he never was serious about the silent nickname.  
  
"Erik . . ." He finally said a little bit shakily. "I . . . It would be an absolute honor to stand by you on your wedding day, my friend."  
  
Erik looked up at him quietly, and then smiled, sighing and collapsing against his chair as though some great weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.  
  
/////////----------------//////////////////////////  
  
It would be a few weeks before Isabelle was allowed to leave the hospital. Erik continued to visit her every day, and saw to it that she cooperated with the doctors and nurses through her physical therapy sessions, which helped her to slowly gain back the strength of her legs. Soon enough, they were taking walks together along the corridors of the hospital, and sharing lunch or dinner at the café across the street. The doctor only allowed this because he trusted Erik so much to bring her back, and because it was so close.  
  
They spent the time together making plans for their wedding, and seeing to it that certain dressmaker and tailor shops were contacted so that they would be prepared for a hefty order which would need to be filled out very fast once it came in. Each time he looked at her, Erik had to wonder what such a stunningly beautiful young woman was doing with a man like him. Certainly the man he used to be was nothing compared to the Opera star he now was. The devoted father figure to three fatherless children, and constant companion of a wounded aristocrat made it seem so odd that he'd ever been that other man. The man who had killed, and hidden in the shadows, and tried not to grow close to any other human.  
  
When she was allowed to finally leave the hospital, the doctor had been persistent in saying she probably shouldn't travel far away for a while. That meant she should have no long carriage rides out to her fathers' estate, even if it was just outside of Paris. So it was that she came to live with Erik in his home, sharing the master bedroom with Madeline. The bed, which had once belonged to Erik's mother, was certainly big enough for the two of them.  
  
Isabelle would oftentimes, however, push the envelope and start pretending to seduce him again. It was hard to do more than smile and laugh at her very good attempts. Yet she understood that Erik was adamant, and even if she stripped stark naked and laid herself across his bed, he would not be with her until after they had married. It seemed to become just a great big game that helped them to pass the time . . . and help them look forward to what was now the very near future.  
  
Erik often found himself amazed that nineteen months had passed since he had first lost Christine to Raoul. It was really such a short amount of time to get over such a terrible heartbreak and loss. Yet he had done it. He had done the one thing he'd never imagined possible, and Isabelle had made it all possible. Marguerite and Fleur had shared one birthday in his presence already, and within another couple of months, they would be sharing another with him, and they would be twelve. Gerard was already six, as his birthday had occurred very shortly after he'd met the family, and again recently. The girls' birthdays had been further away than that. It seemed to them that it took them longer to grow up.  
  
"Erik! Erik you must see this dress!"  
  
He looked up quietly from his piano. Isabelle had made an appointment for the dressmakers to come to the house that day, and fit her for her wedding dress, and show her different styles. Now, she stood in the doorway with a robe on over her underclothing, making him blush profusely.  
  
"Isabelle! How very improper of you!" He scolded, mostly teasing her. "I do not want to see your dress now, Cherie. I will see it on you when you come towards me on our wedding day. Don't spoil the surprise!"  
  
Her eyes lit up at him happily, and she came quickly across the room, putting her arms tightly around him. Erik found he had to close his eyes when he carefully held her in return for just a moment. Adamant or not about waiting to be with her, this was getting damnably hard for him to resist. She loved to tempt him like this, too, and it was a common torture she would tease him with. He was almost relieved when she finally pulled away to give him a brief kiss. Lightly, playfully, he squeezed her waist through the thin material of her clothing, then concentrated once more on his composition as she left the room.  
  
"Oh, come help me pick out a dress, Madeline! I can't decide!" He heard. Chuckling, he shook his head, but did not look up from his music. The idea was far too tempting to give into. He wanted to see her dry on the wedding dresses that had been dragged to the house as example pieces. Yet he also wanted to carry out tradition - something he'd never cared for in the past. All he knew was that Isabelle was a proper woman of the times. She probably had dreams of her wedding day and how perfect it should all be, without even knowing she had them.  
  
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The dress she had selected had been perfect. When Erik finally saw it, he could scarcely breathe. His heart clutched painfully in his chest, almost making him fear he was having a heart attack, like he had when he was still old and . . . ugly. Yet the moment passed, and he realized it was simply the raw emotions of love and awe that ran through him. She wore a beautiful gown that had the vague hint of an iridescent robin egg blue to the satiny folds. She wore a tiara with her veil, much as Christine had on her wedding day, only Isabelle's was a gold tone, and it was studded with cut glass made to look like the stone, aquamarine. Never had he seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. She carried a bouquet of silk roses that matched her dress, and also had a hint of purple to them, making the image of the most beautiful bride ever imagined to be complete.  
  
To his left, Nadir stood in his best clothing, a strapping and tailored evening suit. Erik also wore the same, although his best was from his days as the Phantom. Instead of wearing the black vest under his overcoat, however, he traded it in for a dark crimson, so that he would not remind himself too much of the painful past. To his right, on the other side of the altar of the Notre Dame Cathedral, stood Marguerite, Fleur, Madeline, and Christine, all in stunning violet dresses of satin, with ribbons in lace in just the right places. Just in front of him was Gerard, who stood proudly holding the bright blue pillow that held the rings of the bride and the groom, carefully, watching his balance to keep the rings where they belonged - on the pillow and not lost on the floor. And of course, on the arm of his bride, was her father, Monsieur Develõngê.  
  
"Mon Dieu . . ."  
  
He hadn't even realized he'd spoken aloud until he heard Erik give a stifled chuckle beside him. Yet Erik certainly wasn't ashamed of being unable to control his adoration. He'd never been able to control his love before. He'd watched Christine and thought the same things in the past. This certainly wasn't something he was going to keep hidden. Not on a day like this, when how he felt was the most important part of the whole experience.  
  
Isabelle reached his side, and her father placed her hand firmly within Erik's, holding their hands together between his own for a long moment. Isabelle smiled up at her father as he patted Erik on the back gently, and then moved away. Unable to help himself, Erik lifted his free hand to her cheek, and leaned down to gently press the most uncertain of kisses against the side of her mouth.  
  
"Vous soyez beau." He whispered to her quietly. "Mon Dieu . . . vous êtes si beau."  
  
"Je t'aime, Erik." She whispered in return, before they finally looked up to the priest patiently waiting for them to come back down to Earth and rejoin the ceremony. Smiling, Isabelle blushed, and Erik cleared his throat very softly, taking only half of a step back and away from her. Her hand was still clutched tightly in his, and he realized that at some point, Christine had taken Isabelle's bouquet of silk roses.  
  
Even when they'd rejoined the rest of the guests and participants in the ceremony, Erik became totally lost. He just stared at the woman who was - amazingly enough - his bride.  
  
"Jusqu'á la mort nous pièce." He suddenly found himself murmuring, repeating the monotone words of the priest. When he was finished, the priest said something more, and the entire Cathedral was filled with applause. Blinking, Erik glanced up, startled, then smiled as he looked down to Isabelle, and lifted her veil.  
  
"J'taime." He breathed softly, leaning in to finally kiss the woman who was, of all things, his wife. "J'taime, Madame Genié."  
  
"J'taime, Erik!"  
  
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A/N --- Here they are! The translations!!!!!!  
  
Voeux - Vows  
  
J'taime - I love you  
  
Jusqu'á la mort nous pièce - Until death us part.  
  
Vous soyez beau - You are beautiful.  
  
Mon Dieu . . . vous êtes si beau - My God . . . You are so beautiful 


	22. Family

Chapter 22: Family  
  
It was so warm in the room when Erik woke. Sunlight poured onto the bed from the window above his headboard, though luckily wasn't yet high enough to move the shadow hanging over his head. Rolling onto his side, he reached slowly out in front of him, instinctively pulling close the warm and frail body he knew was beside him. His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled as he looked down towards his wife. Her light auburn hair was let loose over her bare shoulders, her bangs falling into her closed eyes and across her cheek. She was the most beautiful creature that God had ever created.  
  
"Isabelle . . ." He breathed, just to hear the name on his lips. She stirred immediately, her face tilting on the pillow so that it came within an inch of his own. There was a slight smile on her lips before he covered them with his own. Gasping, Isabelle's eyes shot open, and then very slowly closed once more, as a hand came up to grasp his shoulder. When Erik finally pulled away, he smiled and licked his lips a bit mischievously.  
  
"That was one hell of a wake up call." She whispered, laughing softly. Erik chuckled, pulling her tightly against him, putting his toned arms possessively around her shoulders, and leaning his chin on the top of her head. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Loving you." He replied in a whisper. "You would never believe what joy you've brought me this past week."  
  
It had been an incredible week. They were in one of the finest suites the finest hotel in Paris had to offer. They might have been perfectly comfortable staying at home. Yet Erik hadn't felt it was the best time to introduce the birds and the bees to Marguerite and Fleur. Not to mention that for the amount of time they stayed in the suite, Marguerite would have knocked on the door impatiently some hundred times over by now. This gave them the chance to lock themselves away together. The dams had broken loose when the door first closed behind them. Erik couldn't remember ever feeling half as much passion.  
  
"I hope I can continue to give you happiness for many years, Erik." Isabelle replied in a soft voice. "Are we really going home today?"  
  
Erik sighed. Part of him definitely didn't want to return to the state house by the Paris Opera House. Yet another part of him ached for Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard. He knew perfectly well that Isabelle would understand that. She seemed to be the only person who did understand him so completely. Sighing, he sat up, still holding her in his arms so she had to sit up as well.  
  
"Yes." He agreed softly. "We're going home today. I have to go back to rehearsals tomorrow. I've been getting complaining telegrams from the managers about my temporary replacement. They want me back desperately."  
  
Isabelle giggled, reaching out to grab his arm as he pushed away the sheets and started to stand up.  
  
"But we aren't leaving right now." She whispered softly. "Are we?"  
  
He turned, looking her over slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.  
  
"No." He admitted. With that, she all but lunged at him, slipping her arms tightly about him.  
  
"Well then, what are we going to do until then?" She challenged in her most seductive voice. It didn't take much to subdue him now that they were married, and he replied to her question with a searing kiss.  
  
/////////////////------------//////////////////////////////  
  
"Papa!"  
  
Marguerite squealed with excitement as she leapt from the front porch swing of the townhouse. The sky above was a deep fiery orange, and she wore a pretty crimson dress, her black hair in thick curls, and pulled back by a large red bow. She ran for Erik excitedly as he came through the gate with two large suitcases in his hands. He was forced to drop them when it was quite obvious she planned on literally jumping up into his arms.  
  
"Marguerite!" He replied enthusiastically, letting the cases fall with a thud as his arms held up her now weighty body. She was in very healthy shape for her age, now that she'd spent so much time in such a healthy environment. "Oh, Ma petite! Have you grown in one short week?"  
  
"Short?" She cried sounding almost enraged. "That week was not short, Papa! It was forever!"  
  
"Was it?" He asked with a chuckle, kissing her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Cherie. Rest assured I'm not going away again for quite a very long time."  
  
Putting her down, he turned to touch Isabelle's waist, and let her pass him on the walkway. When she had gotten by, he picked up the suitcases again, and headed towards the house.  
  
"Hello, Marguerite." Isabelle said to the child fondly. Marguerite looked up to Isabelle for a long moment, as though trying to figure out what to say or how to act now. Then, she smiled brightly.  
  
"Hullo!" She greeted, and then bounded back towards the house.  
  
"Marguerite - where are your mother and sister? Where is Gerard?"  
  
She stopped again on the steps, waiting impatiently for Erik to catch up with her.  
  
"Fleur is in bed. She fell down today and Mama told her to stay in bed the rest of the day. Gerard is with Mama. She went to dinner with a man today!"  
  
"Did she?" Isabelle asked, sounding both surprised and delighted. "Good for her!" Erik ignored the latter part of the conversation altogether. Moving past his wife and 'daughter', he lugged the two suitcases hurriedly up into his room, dropped them off, and then peeked into Fleur's bedroom.  
  
"Cherie?" He asked softly, watching the figure on the bed as she rolled over lethargically. Reddened eyes looked at him across the dimly lit room, and he hurried over to her side. "Cherie, are you all right?" His eyes scanned over her covered frame. "Are you hurt?"  
  
Fleur watched him a second, and then reached up to rub at her head. He noticed a bruise on her arm, and quickly reached out to examine it. It turned out that there was more than one bruise. There were a series of small, oval shaped bruises that looked almost like finger marks. When he went to touch one carefully, she flinched. So they had to have been quite fresh.  
  
"My dear, did someone do this to you?" He whispered, feeling a flare of rage well up inside him. Fleur looked away quickly, and shook her head almost frantically. Sighing, Erik reached up and gently probed at the tender lump under her hairline. "Will you write down what happened for me?"  
  
She shook her head again, and he sighed heavily.  
  
"All right, Cherie. Let me see your beautiful green eyes."  
  
She did that for him at least. He determined that she didn't have a concussion, and would be all right come morning. Kissing her cheek, he stood, told her to rest as her mother had ordered, and then left her alone to sleep. Back downstairs; Marguerite was trying to have Isabelle tell her everywhere they'd been on their honeymoon. Isabelle was blushing profusely, trying to think of what to tell such a small girl. Erik smiled as she fumbled for an explanation, and then shook his head.  
  
"What we did on our vacation, my dearest, is none of your business." He told Marguerite gently. "We shared adult moments, all right?"  
  
Marguerite stared up at him incomprehensively. Then, she smiled and ran over to hug him again tightly. Erik looked over her head at Isabelle, who smiled at him gratefully, and watched him lovingly. Her eyes lowered to watch Marguerite and how he stroked her black curls. He understood what she was wondering. Immediately after their marriage, she had asked him about what he'd say if they ever had a child. Whether he might want a boy or girl, or what they would do in raising the child. Now apparently she was watching, thinking of how he would be like that with their own children.  
  
"I missed you, Papa." Marguerite whispered. "I didn't like it when you were gone! The man mama is seeing is dreadful!"  
  
"Is he?" Erik thought about upstairs in Fleur's room; the marks on her arms. They had been large bruises, not belonging to Madeline by any means. Yet he dismissed the idea. He had no proof yet, and he knew that Marguerite was the jealous type.  
  
"He's so MEAN!" Marguerite insisted. "He only yells at Fleur and me!"  
  
"Does he hit?" Erik asked cautiously, crouching down to look into her eyes. "Does this man hit any of you?"  
  
Marguerite looked away slowly, not saying anything. Erik made a low growl and stood up, turning to storm towards the door.  
  
"Isabelle, keep them upstairs please." He hollered over his shoulder.  
  
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Three hours would pass before Madeline came home in a dingy old coach. Erik had lit the porch lamps, and stood on the top step as he watched a middle-class looking gentleman step out of the porch and march up to the fence. The sway in his balance told Erik immediately that the man was intoxicated. He wasn't even being chivalrous enough to help Madeline from the coach. She had to climb down herself, a half-asleep Gerard in her arms, and her arms squeezing a soft velvet wrap about her shoulders. She didn't see Erik there immediately, and neither did her consort.  
  
"Damn it, woman! I said I wanted to go back to my place!" The drunk snapped angrily at her as she moved past him towards the house. Reaching out, the man shoved her shoulder, and she lost her balance, nearly dropping Gerard.  
  
Erik observed as she regained her balance and strode towards the house without saying anything about his treatment towards her. Yet when the man came up behind her to snatch at her hair through a bonnet like hat, Erik stalked down the steps onto the walk way.  
  
"Touch her again, Monsieur, and I will kill you." He growled, his hands clenched into fists until his knuckles turned white. His presence took both Madeline and the drunk off guard, and stopped in their tracks. Yet the man was a quick thinker.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" He demmanded, his eyes narrowing angrily. "Stay out of this! It's none of your business!"  
  
"Like hell it's not!" Erik snapped. "The woman you're daring to strike happens to be my friend. Her children are like my own. And if you come a step closer to this house I will not hesitate to kill you."  
  
"I'd like to see you try it!" The man sneered. "Madeline, who is this bastard?"  
  
She looked up at Erik sheepishly, her face somewhat discolored. She bit her lower lip nervously as Erik watched her carefully, but his eyes were very gentle when he looked at her. He certainly had no reason to be angry at her. Not yet, at least.  
  
"Frederick, this is Monsieur Erik. He owns the house. He's been letting my family stay with him and his wife." She looked up at Erik still. "I didn't know you'd be back today, Erik."  
  
Erik simply shook his head, moving closer to the man called Frederick. The man had salt n' pepper hair, which had apparently been a flattering copper color at one time. Yet there was very little of that color left to it. He was perhaps around Erik's age - Erik's true age. He had jade green eyes that seemed frozen over with ice, they were so cold. His irises were surrounded by bloodshot whites.  
  
"Maybe instinct brought me back." He said coolly. "Considering this is truly my house, I think I have the right to order this man from the property. Unless of course you want a dangerou drunk near your children again."  
  
Madeline blanched, and looked away as though ashamed of what had happened. She had reason to be, of course. Yet Erik wasn't going to say that to her. Surely she hadn't known the man was going to hurt her babies.  
  
"Go inside." Erik told her in the tone of a stern father. "I have words to exchange with Monsieur Frederick."  
  
The man looked enraged.  
  
"I have nothing to say to you!" He snapped, obviously too drunk to understand what a rage Erik was in.  
  
Madeline glanced over her shoulder, and then wisely ran into the house, slamming the doors behind her to hide from what was about to happen. Yet Erik didn't hear the door crack open again as Isabelle came down moments later to find out what was happening. He simply stalked like a panther down the walk way, over to where Frederick held up both hands into fists, as though getting ready for some fight.  
  
Erik didn't want to waste his time grappling with him, so he set out with his foot, kicking the drunkard in the stomach and knocking him onto his back. Then, grabbing himy by his long salt n' pepper hair, he dragged him out onto the street behind the coach, and crouched over him threateningly. Frederick, by this point, in his drunken state, was only starting to get over the kick to the stomach. He stared up at Erik with glazed eyes.  
  
"If you come near them again, I will kill you." He whispered. "I should kill you for what you did to Fleur. Rest assured that if I ever see you again - and I don't care if you're only crossing the street - I will kill you. Now get away from my family!"  
  
He hut Frederick as hard as he could in the face for good measure. He heard the bones of his face break, and when he stood up, the drunkard was bleeding severely from his nose. He didn't care.  
  
He turned and stalked away, back around the hired coach, and closed the gate in front of his house calmly behind him. He was only halfway back up the walk when he saw Isabelle staring at him from the top porch step, her eyes wide in horror at what she'd seen and heard. No one had ever seen his temper before from the family. Now she knew what it could meet to get him angry.  
  
"What?" Erik asked, a bit irritably. "Do you want me to apologize for giving that bastard what he deserves?"  
  
Isabelle shook her head, and he realized she was trembling a little bit. Sighing, he shook his head, and then moved up to stand just below her in front of the steps to the porch. Reaching out slowly, he offered his hands to her. It took a few uncertain moments, but she took them, squeezing his fingertips.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt anyone, Izzy." He told her gently, using the nickname he'd heard her father use in the hospital. Although he wouldn't use it too often, he was very fond of the little name. "But anyone who threatens those I love is going to pay for even considering it."  
  
She nodded slowly, and then turned to lead him quietly into the house. 


	23. New Situations

A/N: Aw, that was rather disappointing. Oh I think your reviews are funny, I liked the idea of Erik kicking ass too. But --- oh well not your fault! I had my expectations set too high! Maybe I'm getting too vain for this.  
  
Oh, the song is obviously from a Phantom movie.  
  
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Chapter 23: New Situations  
  
Erik leaned over Fleur as she lay in bed, watching as her chest rose and fell with every sleeping breath that she took. She hadn't been disturbed all that evening, and he was grateful for it. He hadn't wanted her or Marguerite to see his temper flair. They should never be exposed to something has horrendous as his rage. He'd been lucky that night. He'd been able to control himself, although now he wondered why he had. The man had been scum, like Javert . . .  
  
He immediately shook that memory away. It was too horrible to remember now, at a time like this. It wasn't one of his strongest moments. He didn't want to remember the first man who he'd ever killed. Most undoubtedly the must disgusting man he'd ever killed too. Instead, he focused on Fleur's sleeping face, and leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek.  
  
A light scratching at the door caught his attention, and he turned to see Isabelle in her silk nightgown, auburn hair pulled back into a tidy, prim braid. His senses were so acute in that moment; he could smell the remnants of her lilac perfume coming across the room from her. She was freshly bathed; her hair still damp, and Erik assumed he must have been sitting next to Fleur for quite some time now.  
  
"Erik, come to bed." She told him in the most tender of voices. "She's fine. Nothing is going to happen to her while she's safely asleep in bed."  
  
Smiling slowly, he glanced down at Fleur a final time, and then stood up from the chair he'd brought so close to the bedside. With a sigh, he followed her out into the hall, watching as she disappeared into their room. He continued after her, pausing outside of Marguerite's bedroom door. He peered inside, as it had been left ajar, and saw her sitting up in bed, staring at the door handle as though waiting for someone to come in. His smile grew more serene as he realized she was waiting to be tucked in.  
  
He pushed his way into the room, watching her eyes light up as she pulled one of her new dolls close to her side. She would be getting too old for dolls, soon, but Erik loved spoiling her. He'd given it to her, for no particular reason, within the weeks after Isabelle awoke from her coma. Moving to kneel by the bed, he silently put his arms around her in a tender hug, and kissed her hair. She returned the embrace, and rested her head on his shoulder.  
  
"Hear those bells ringing soft and low . . ." He began to sing gently, not laying her down, but letting her stay in his arms. "Bringing peace to the twilight glow. Calling to everyone 'Night has begun!' Turn from your weary toil, days work is done!"  
  
There was a creak in the floorboard behind him. He didn't have to turn around to know Isabelle had returned to the hallways in search of her husband.  
  
"Hear them ring while my love and I . . . drift and dream to a lullaby."  
  
Pulling back from the embrace, he helped Marguerite to settle comfortably against her pillow, kissing her tiny hands, and her little cheeks. He was still humming as he stood up and turned to the door, finding Isabelle staring at him with the most tranquil expression he'd ever seen on any one person. Smiling quietly, he continued humming until he closed the door to Marguerite's bedroom behind him, and then put his arms about his bride.  
  
"No one is going to hurt this family, Erik." She whispered reassuringly to him as they moved into their bedroom, closing and locking the door behind them. "Everyone is all right."  
  
"They will always have the memories there to hurt them." Erik stated blandly, removing most of his clothes and sitting on the edge of the bed. "No one knows better than I the pain that a mere memory can cause."  
  
"What pain could there have been in your life?" Isabelle asked, abruptly concerned. Erik had never spoken to her of his past. How could he? She would never have understood.  
  
"More than you'll ever know." He said simply. "I will do everything to see the memory of that brute wiped cleanly from their memory. I wish I would have been able to do the same for myself."  
  
"Erik, I'm confused." Isabelle confessed, sitting beside him on the mattress. He smiled quietly and turned to her, putting both arms about her waist to draw her closer.  
  
"Don't think about it, ma amour." He whispered soothingly. "They are my own thoughts. I'm thinking aloud to myself. Don't worry yourself with my ramblings."  
  
"Your words come from the deepest recesses of your heart. I must listen and worry." She retorted. Laughing, Erik shook his head.  
  
"You must never worry about a thing I say." He mock-ordered. "Let's get some sleep, ma Cherie. I need to be at the Opera tomorrow."  
  
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"Has my replacement really caused such a raucous?" Erik couldn't help but chuckle as he watched the Managers move anxiously towards the Russian gentleman who had replaced him during his weeklong honeymoon. He looked almost like a male version of Carlotta; a man who obviously gave himself airs, and certainly started to throw a fit worthy of a Prima Donna when the managers told him he could go back to his place in the chorus.  
  
"Oh, Erik, the man can't carry a tune in a bucket!" Christine chuckled as she stood beside him. "He's been throwing me off all week. Thank God we didn't have any performances. I think that's why he's so angry now. The fact that he didn't get to perform and humiliate himself in front of hundreds of people . . ."  
  
Erik laughed, touching her elbow lightly in good humor.  
  
"Christine, you never cease to amaze me with the things you say." He admitted. "So . . . with your first year anniversary coming up in another four moths, you must have something very special planned."  
  
"Well, we did." She admitted with a smile. "We were going to visit England for three weeks. Yet my physician told me to stay close to home. A woman in my condition isn't supposed to be traveling much."  
  
Erik froze. Everything around him seemed to stop dead. For a moment, it seemed that everything had vanished, and that he had suddenly gone deaf. The words struck him immediately as a couple of the harshest words in the world. He'd never imagined such words could possibly hurt him now. Yet they did. That bit of love he still had lingering for Christine made it seem like a burning hot butcher knife had sliced him clean down the middle. Slowly, he turned to face her, and he saw the bright joy shining in her eyes.  
  
"Christine . . ." He whispered, hoping his voice sounded more awe- struck than sorrowing. "Are you and Raoul going to have a baby?"  
  
"Yes!" She almost sounded like she was helping, and she actually took a small leap of excitement. "Isn't it wonderful, Erik? I've already spoken to the management, and they asked me when I would have to leave, and how soon after the baby was born that I could come back to work! It's the most wondrous feeling, Erik! Knowing you started another life that is going to grow up in this beautiful world . . ."  
  
Erik just stared at her. Christine truly had no idea how much he did still love her. He'd never believed that he would stop loving her altogether. Yet upon marrying Isabelle, he'd hoped any sort of shock like this would be dulled knowing he had such a fine woman to go home to. It didn't help much at all. It was as though she were telling him of her pregnancy the day she abandoned him beneath the Opera House. The wounds were suddenly so fresh. So Christine had married Raoul. He'd managed to deal with that, even though he still felt bitterness towards the young man. Yet thinking about Christine with Raoul's child in her womb . . . a child he'd dreamed of having with her from the day he first set eyes on her . . . was more acutely painful than that.  
  
"Well, Erik?" He hadn't realized he'd turned his face downward and closed his eyes until her sweet voice penetrated through his daze. Lifting his eyes quickly, he saw her still smiling. She was still utterly oblivious to his agony.  
  
"Well?" He repeated dumbly, wondering if he had missed something. Christine giggled, slapping his shoulder lightly, as though sharing some private joke with him.  
  
"Don't you have anything to say?" She teased. Erik's eyes widened.  
  
"Oh! Well . . . Yes!" He turned and took her hands in his gently. "Congratulations, Christine." He looked her in the eyes for no longer than five seconds before he had to pull away. "Uh . . . excuse me, please. I need to speak with Monsieur Reyer."  
  
He pulled away as quickly as he could without being impolite, and weaved his way through the cast, all of whom greeted him back with enthusiasm. Those who had been unable to attend his wedding ceremony took the moments to congratulate him, and then he was standing half a foot away from the choral instructor.  
  
"Bonjour, Monsieur Reyer." Erik greeted politely, having managed to shed his melancholy within the half minute it took to get from Christine's side to the front of the stage. "Do you need me to work with anyone this morning?"  
  
"Ah, Monsieur Génie!" Monsieur Reyer smiled at him as though a thousand pounds of weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. "How wonderful to see you this morning! As a matter of fact . . . we're starting rehearsals for 'The Magic Flute' today, and I was wondering if you would help Monsieur Jacques and Madame Christine with their roles. Especially Christine. The Queen of the Night is no easy role to perfect - even for a woman as vocally talented as she is."  
  
"I'd be happy to help Jacques today." Erik replied quietly, trying not to let his entire body go rigid at the thought of being so close to Christine when he still wasn't entirely control of his own emotions over the brand new shock he'd just endured. "I think I should rehearse with Christine on a private basis when it comes to the arias she needs to sing."  
  
Monsieur Reyer looked at Erik as though he'd just sprouted antlers. It was a very rare occasion when Erik didn't adamantly insist on taking Christine into a practice room for extra practice. Yet after a moment, he reflected that it would be wise to have one-on-one time with her, rather than having the practice time split between the two actors. Smiling, he nodded.  
  
"Well then, could you possibly work with Jacques this morning, and then with Christine this afternoon?"  
  
"Let me see how far I get with Jacques before I decide on working with Christine, Monsieur." Erik said quickly, turning away. "I'd be delighted to do whatever I can."  
  
"Thank God." Monsieur Reyer replied. "This week has been Hell."  
  
Erik managed to chuckle before he ducked into the hallway to be alone for a few moments. He would need to have time alone in order to totally recover from this heart-shattering news. He wondered if Isabelle and Marguerite would mind if he simply shut himself away in the parlor after rehearsals for that one afternoon. He could claim to be inspired to start some new composition. It was possible that Isabelle would see right through that, but at least it would give him time to come up with some explanation of his melancholy if she brought it up.  
  
"Monsieur?"  
  
Looking up, he saw Jacques - the second tenor of the cast - standing in the doorway to the stage. He seemed concerned to find Erik leaning wearily against the wall. It was a condition almost no one had seen him in.  
  
"Monsieur Reyer told me I might find you out here." Jacques explained quietly. "He said you might be working with me this morning."  
  
"Yes." Erik agreed, clearing his throat and pulling himself together quickly. "Come this way, Monsieur."  
  
"Don't you think we could settle ourselves into a first-name basis, Erik?" Jacques chuckled. "Don't we know each other well enough yet?"  
  
Erik laughed in return, although he didn't find anything funny about the situation. No one truly knew him, except for Nadir. There were still things that even Nadir didn't know about his life; things that he never would come to know. He was too defensive to let anyone get to know him that well. Especially now that he had so much past to hide, lest he frighten the ones he loved the most.  
  
That entire day, the only thing he was able to think about was Christine's new situation. The practice with Jacques ran smoothly, as far as Erik had been able to pay attention, at least. Lunch came, and Isabelle showed up to bring him something that she and Madeline had made. They sat and ate together, Erik being mostly quiet. Isabelle thought that it was because he was still thinking about what had happened with Frederick the night before. Poor, naïve Isabelle would never be able to understand the truth if he told her.  
  
What was the truth, exactly? He kept asking himself that time and time again. What was he so melancholy about? What made him so sorrowful?  
  
He was jealous that Christine was going to have a baby, and it wasn't his. That was the answer. How could he try and make his beautiful wife understand something like that? How could he make her understand that for however much he adored and loved her, there would always be a part of him that would belong to Christine? He didn't think it would be possible for him to explain it. He certainly didn't want to hurt her, either. He would have to keep this a very well hidden secret for the rest of his days.  
  
Keeping a secret had never seemed so amazingly difficult before. 


	24. I Love You

Chapter 24: I Love You  
  
The house was a storm of music that evening, as the sun set in the West, and the first stars of twilight started to dot the sky. There was not a corner of the house that was not touched by a torrent of violent and despairing emotion brought on by the music played on the grand piano in the parlor. In the kitchen, Madeline, the three children, and Isabelle were sitting down at the dinner table, staring at untouched plates of food.  
  
Finally Isabelle could stand no more. She stood up, the chair scraping back on the wooden floor with a little shriek, and everyone else stood as well. Even Gerard climbed down from his chair and followed Isabelle down the short section of hallway leading to the open parlor door. As the other four crowded the doorway behind her, Isabelle stepped in a bit.  
  
Erik had been playing ever since the moment he came home. He seemed completely lost in his music. There were odd stains across his cheeks as though he'd been crying. None of the family was ignorant to what tear stains looked like. Yet right now, he was not crying. His eyes were not even vaguely puffy to suggest that he ever had been.  
  
"Erik!" Isabelle called over the music, her voice being drowned out by it. "Erik . . . your supper is getting cold!"  
  
Her voice penetrated that time, and the music stopped abruptly. Erik's amber eyes lifted to stare at her across the room. They seemed fathomless, and saddened. It was something that Isabelle had never seen before in him. She'd known when he came home that something had been wrong. Yet she hadn't known it consumed him this much.  
  
Erik stared at his family for a long moment, watching as they gazed on at him in concern. Even Gerard seemed to understand that something wasn't right. Madeline had one arm each about her daughters, hugging them close as they stared without comprehension towards their 'papa'. Slowly, he looked back down at his hands, which tingled as they rested on the ivory keys of his piano, now completely motionless as though all the energy had drained out of them.  
  
"I'm not hungry tonight." He said quietly, amazed that his voice sounded so unconvincing. Usually, he could lie his way into Heaven with the tone of his voice. Tonight his heart wasn't into the lie. Although he was actually telling the truth, it wasn't as simple as not being hungry.  
  
Isabelle looked to Madeline quietly, and the other woman nodded, escorting the children back into the kitchen. Isabelle then went about closing all of the doors leading out into the hallway so that they would have a bit of privacy. When she approached Erik on the piano bench, he did not look up. Yet he watched keenly as her elegant fingers came into view, covering his hand gently. He let her lift his hands away from the piano keys. He watched as she closed the lid.  
  
"Tell me." She insisted gently, perching on the bench beside him. "Erik, you must tell me what's bothering you. This isn't about what happened last night. It couldn't be. You were in fine spirits this morning before you left for rehearsals. Did something happen?"  
  
"Isabelle . . ." He whispered softly, shaking his head just a little bit. "Don't worry yourself on my account. It's something I have to work out on my own."  
  
"Oh, don't you dare!" Isabelle grabbed his shoulder. "Don't you dare push me away now, Erik!"  
  
"I'm not pushing you away, Isabelle." He promised. "It isn't that at all. Yet this is something I cannot burden you with."  
  
"Burden me." She replied tartly. "There will be no secrets between us, my darling. Not if you love me."  
  
He looked up at her quickly, turning and taking both of her shoulders in his hands. He stared into her eyes intently.  
  
"I do love you." He vowed. "That is precisely why I must keep this to myself. I must figure out how to deal with this by myself. Please try and understand, Isabelle. If you knew what was running through my mind you would . . . you'd hate me."  
  
"I could never hate you." She told him softly, staring up into his gaze. "Don't you understand that, Erik? I love you more than anything in this world. Whatever this is, let me help you overcome it. Please?"  
  
"I can't!" He said, more fiercely than before. "I am sorry, my beloved, but I cannot! Only trust that I will overcome it. Trust me in that whatever I feel, it has nothing to do with what I feel for you and this family we have here."  
  
"Of course I trust you." She sighed, looking away. "I know you love me, Erik. I know you love the children and that you care about Madeline. Yet I fear you think you are stronger than you actually are. If you try and overcome this on your own, and fail, what will happen to us?"  
  
"Nothing at all." He promised, slowly pulling her into his arms. "I swear, my darling, nothing at all. And nothing shall happen to me."  
  
He held her for a long time, his thoughts drifting back to Christine and the baby. Agonizing over the fact that she was going to have the Vicomte's child would be no help it letting him live out a joy-filled life with Isabelle. Perhaps nothing could cure his regret, his sorrow, or his jealousy. Yet he could bury it away. He could let it be a smaller part of him. He could let himself be wrapped within the joy he felt whenever Isabelle as so near to his side.  
  
Looking down at her again, he reached up to gently stroke her cheek. She smiled at him, feeling his mood slowly dissipate into something brighter. Erik was getting a hold of his emotions enough to hide the terrible parts of them from her. There was no need to put her through such worry and agony because of his traitorous heart.  
  
"Come . . ." He whispered finally, standing, and pulling her to her feet. Isabelle let him lead her to the far door, by the staircase at the front of the house. "Let me take you upstairs."  
  
"Now?" She asked a bit astonished. "Erik, everyone is still awake. We haven't even had our supper."  
  
"Did you care when we had not eaten breakfast or lunch during our honeymoon?" He chuckled softly. "Please, love. Come . . ."  
  
Isabelle giggled gently, shaking her head at him as he silently opened the door. He began to lead her to the foot of the stairs, yet abruptly turned. He tugged sharply on her wrist so that she lost her balance and fell towards him. He slipped his free arm about her as she fell towards it, and then placed his other arm immediately under her legs so that he could lift her from her feet. Isabelle laughed aloud; covering her mouth quickly when she realized this caught the attention of those in the kitchen. Erik chuckled softly, carrying her fast up the stairs, covering her mouth with his own when her hand came away from her face.  
  
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Lying with her hours later, Erik stroked Isabelle's long auburn hair, and settled gentle kisses around each little part of her face. There was not a single aspect of this woman that he did not love beyond all rationality. When he made love to her, everything he'd ever felt for any other woman was forgotten. Even the crush he'd had on Luciana when he was a teenager was completely annihilated by his adoration for Isabelle. She was half asleep as she lay in his arms now. Yet at each kiss she would coo with approval. She was still basking in the afterglow of their intimacy, and these moments were usually when she was the most beautiful. It was amazing he could stop making love to her for a moment when she looked like this. If it were possible, he would never stop.  
  
"My love . . ." He sighed quietly, nestling his face against her hair at last. It was late at night now. They had been enjoying each other for hours. Fleur could be heard downstairs, tinkering on the piano as Madeline tried to talk her into going to bed. Gerard could be heard singing his own little made-up tune as he lay in bed, trying to go to sleep. Marguerite was somewhere in the house, though it couldn't be said where. Perhaps she was in the kitchen, working on the writing exercises he had given her some time ago. Madeline had been wise enough to keep the little girls downstairs. Gerard would be safe being brought so close to their intimacy. When he was in his room, he was usually oblivious to anything except for his own young thoughts. The noises now reaching them seemed to be a comforting addition to his relaxation and bliss.  
  
"Erik . . ." Isabelle murmured, still half-asleep. "My love . . ."  
  
"No, no." Erik soothed. "Don't. Go to sleep, sweetheart. Sleep. Dream."  
  
She shifted against him a bit, the corner of her lips quirking into a little smile. Erik smiled broadly, and closed is eyes, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him. Even at this abrupt movement, she didn't even stir. Erik pulled a sheet up over them so that when their bodies cooled they would not turn cold from the air. Then, relaxed as he'd ever been before, more at ease than he could have ever hoped to be after such a day, he began to drift off to sleep, thinking only of his bride. 


	25. Joyeux Anniversaire! Happy Birthday!

A/N: I am very bad with the passage of time. So I may be incorrect with it. Please just be patient with me if I jump ahead or accidentally slip behind. It's hard to follow a time frame with me. If I weren't so lazy, I'd write out a time line to keep beside me to keep track, but since I am . . . (lol)  
  
Raoul has his foppish moment, and Erik enjoys it to no end!  
  
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Chapter 25: Joyeux Anniversaire!  
  
"Joyeux anniversaire! Joyeux anniversaire! Joyeux anniversaire, Cher Gerard! Joyeux anniversaire!"  
  
The small gathering around the kitchen table clapped as Gerard blew out the six candles on his birthday cake. Marguerite and Fleur reached forward to swipe their fingertips over the icing greedily before their mother had a chance to smack their wrists away. Yet Gerard didn't seem to care too much. He just laughed excitedly, and demanded to be given a piece of his cake. Sitting at the foot of the table was Erik, his bride pulled onto his lap as Raoul and Christine sat side by side opposite the twins. Christine was a bit heavy with child now. There would only be another two months or so before the baby was born.  
  
"Hold on, hold on!" Madeline chuckled as she picked up the cake from the table, carrying it to the counter so she might cut it and put it on plates. "Who doesn't want a piece, and what sizes does everyone else want?"  
  
"A big piece!" Marguerite insisted, her voice over-excited for her little brothers special occasion. She spoke for both her and her twin sister, who had her arms spread out enthusiastically to emphasize size.  
  
Christine and Raoul held hands atop the table as they looked at one another lovingly. Erik had invited them to the birthday party when it was realized that Gerard had no friends to invite, and he'd desperately wanted company. He'd gone on and on about how many guests he would be having. Although Christine and Raoul were the only guests thus far, Isabelle's father was expected to appear in short time and give Gerard a bit of a gift as well. Gerard was too young to know he didn't have any of his own little friends there. He only knew that it was a big party just for him.  
  
"Big one!" Gerard yelled to his mother insistently, his little voice somehow booming in the moderately sized room. "Big one, Mama!"  
  
"Yes, yes, I know!" Madeline looked over her shoulder to smile at him. Then, she looked towards Erik and Isabelle, as Erik hugged his arm tightly about his wife. "What about you two?"  
  
"We're going to share." Isabelle said matter-of-factly, turning to give Erik a long but relatively innocent kiss. They were careful when they showed affection in front of the children. Laughing, Erik pinched her waist, making her squeal with laughter, and smack him hard across the shoulder.  
  
"I'll have just a regular piece, thank you." Christine said next, trying to give Madeline time to cut everyone else's slices and pass them out. Raoul quietly passed up the chance for some delicious chocolate cake, and took a sip of the punch that had been made available. "Oh, I'm getting so fat. I'll be glad when I can see my toes again!"  
  
"Mon Dieu!" Erik rolled his eyes. "Christine, you're pregnant! Of course you can't expect to hold that child in your regular tiny frame!" He thought for a long moment, and then smiled at her gently. "Though I must say, the entire company will be quite pleased when you return to the Opera."  
  
She blushed quietly, and then made a large scene of accepting the cake that Madeline put in front of her. As Isabelle scooped up a bit of cake from the plate in front of her and her husband, she held the fork up towards his lips. With a playful growl, he struck out at the offering like a cobra uncoiling from his predatory coil, and that made Isabelle jump again. She could act so like the children when she wanted to; could be so flighty.  
  
"Have you started trying yet?" Christine suddenly asked Erik, making him stare at her momentarily in confusion, a bit of chocolate stuck to his lips before Isabelle giggled, wiping it away with a napkin.  
  
"Try - oh! You mean, are we trying for a baby?" He replied. Christine smiled, nodding slowly. Erik slowly turned to look up at Isabelle. His wife simply looked back at him with loving, happy eyes. "Not per se." He finally replied, looking back at Christine. "I mean, it's hard to make love and not take the chance of conceiving. Yet we haven't done anything but accept that it may or may not happen."  
  
The children were oblivious to the conversation. Yet a voice from behind caught their attention.  
  
"Well, it's about time you gave me a grandson!"  
  
Isabelle stood from Erik's lap immediately, although he tried to hold her there, wrestling with her a bit playfully. Isabelle then launched into the open arms of her father, and kissed his cheek. The poor man almost dropped the package he held under one arm. Erik reached out while the man was still occupied with his daughter, and took the package from him, adding it to the small pile against the wall behind Christine's chair.  
  
"Ah, there you are my boy." The man said jovially. Erik still had not asked him his first name, although he was sure he probably had the right to by now. Standing, he shook his father-in-laws' hand, his fingers nearly crushed by the firm grip.  
  
"Père!" Gerard exclaimed from the head of the table, waving to Isabelle's father with hands and mouth both covered in chocolate cake. All three of Madeline's children had taken to calling the man that, as the man didn't know them well enough to allow them to call him grandfather, and he really was sort of an on-the-sidelines father to them as of late. Erik's life had become so busy at the Opera House; he'd been sending the children with his wife to her fathers' estate so they might enjoy themselves in the lavish surroundings. Madeline would, more often than not, accompany them.  
  
"Ah, Gerard! There's the happy birthday lad!" Isabelle's father rounded the crowded table to say hello to everyone, and Isabelle returned to Erik's lap, also returning her attention fully to him.  
  
"He's gotten into this role quite well." Erik murmured to her, making her laugh softly.  
  
"Yes, he has, hasn't he?" She replied softly. "Well, at least it prepares him for the real thing."  
  
"Why do you think I had the children introduced to him?" Erik replied with a low, wicked chuckle. Christine looked at him questioningly across the way, and he shook his head, waving his hand dismissively at her. She shrugged and went back into a conversation with Raoul. Erik watched her temporarily as she rubbed her swollen stomach gently.  
  
When everyone had finished their share of cake, Isabelle and Erik helped Madeline clear the table. Marguerite gave up her chair so that Monsieur Develõngê could seat himself, but then promptly took up place in his lap. Fleur did the same with his unoccupied knee, and Madeline found that there was now a seat available for her to sit in. She sighed heavily as she took the deserved rest beside her son, as he excitedly demanded to have his presents.  
  
"Gerard!" Erik's voice cut through all the excitement in the room, and everyone became silent, turning to look at him. His eyes were stern, almost hard, as the young boy cringed back a little bit. "What do we say?" Erik finally prompted in a far gentler tone.  
  
"Please?" Gerard gave in after a few defiant seconds, which he was well aware, would probably earn him a spanking if he kept it up. Erik nodded, looking to Raoul and Christine.  
  
"He may have them now." He said softly, making it perfectly clear who the authority figure was in this household. Usually he tried not to interfere with Madeline as she disciplined her children, but Gerard had been getting obnoxious.  
  
Christine turned, quickly picking up the package from Isabelle's father, and putting it in front of the boy. Gerard ripped open the present eagerly, not caring about the packaging that it was in. He then stared into the box Madeline helped him to open, then to Isabelle's father in question. Everyone else followed his gaze as well.  
  
"It is a snow globe of the London Bridge, Gerard." The man explained softly. "Show him, Madeline. I thought, Gerard, that you might like a grown-ups toy."  
  
"The London Bridge?" Erik asked inquisitively. "No offense, Monsieur, but don't you think that's a bit plain for a snow globe?"  
  
"Not for his first one." Monsieur said obligingly, laughing. "Next year perhaps, if he wishes another, I will get him something grander." Leaning over, he whispered to Erik. "He's so young, it will probably break in a month."  
  
"Then why did you have to specify it as a toy?" Erik laughed, shaking his head. Gerard had already grown bored with the first gift, but murmured an insincere thank-you to Monsieur before tearing into the next gift, which was apparently from Christine and Raoul.  
  
Again, he stared at them in question. Raoul smiled.  
  
"It's a riding uniform." He explained proudly. "I assume you're going to teach the boy how to ride, aren't you?" He looked to Erik instead of Madeline. "Now he can look good doing it." His little joke made Christine giggle, yet Erik only attempted to keep from rolling his eyes, and hid it by looking up to Isabelle and giving her another soft kiss to a tender spot on her throat.  
  
"Er ist ein dummkopf." He whispered into her ear. He knew that she'd been tutored in several different languages including German, so she began to laugh helplessly when he whispered to her that Raoul was a fool. No one else seemed to understand, and watched them quizzically. Erik, however, was encouraged by her delightful laughter, and chuckled evilly. "Sein Kopf ist leer! Hübsches gesicht - leeres gehim!"  
  
By this time Isabelle could scarcely breathe, and everyone was staring at them with total incomprehension. Raoul might not have been one of the brightest men in the world, but he knew somehow that he was being mocked. His face turned a not-too-flattering crimson, and he muttered beneath his breath, squeezing Christine's hand tightly and trying to ignore the laughter. When Isabelle had finally seemed to calm down, everyone turned back to Gerard, who had meanwhile opened another present and was smiling broadly at a little toy flute that Erik himself had carved out of wood. He tested it, making a high-pitched squeal that made everyone cover their ears.  
  
"Erik!" Madeline scolded immediately, and he chuckled again, shrugging.  
  
"He wanted to learn to play an instrument!" He argued defensively. "Fleur already is learning the piano. I can't very well have them arguing over who is going to use it when! Besides - Isabelle picked out which instrument it would be." His wife gave him a light slap at that, but he ignored it.  
  
His point made, everyone dealt with the noise that Gerard made with his new toy for several more minutes, until Madeline snatched it away. The cries that the boy gave were amazing, as though he'd learned how to bellow his disapproval from Erik. Christine looked at him out of the corner of her eye when she made the playful connection, but he didn't notice. He was too busy reaching behind her to grab another package and put it in front of Gerard in a hurry.  
  
After another two seconds, Gerard quieted down once more, and leapt on the new present. He tore it open with abandon, throwing the packaging paper everywhere without caring where it landed. When his present finally lay bare in front of him, his eyes widened. It was a little toy pocket watch made of solid wood that should not be easily broken.  
  
"How do you like it?" Madeline whispered to him. "Your sisters picked it out for you."  
  
Gerard looked at his sisters, and smiled at him happily, nodding quickly. The girls clapped, excited that he liked their gift, and then Madeline helped the boy to secure it to his vest just as Erik had secured a real gold pocket watch to him several times in the past. In fact, he was wearing one at that very moment, hidden beneath his overcoat. Finally, Madeline brought out her own gift, which was a sort of lantern with a metal shade over it, different shapes cut out of it. When she lit the candle on the inside, and put the shade over it, letting it spin, pictures of stars swirled about the dim kitchen. As it was a misty day outside, it allowed for a fine showing of the new gift.  
  
"Mama!" Gerard shrieked, throwing his arms about her in giddiness. The entire family knew how much he loved to look at the stares.  
  
"Now you can watch them as you go to sleep." Madeline whispered to him, her voice now audible as the rest of the room was pretty quiet. Gerard was the center of attention, just as it should be on his birthday.  
  
Erik had managed to keep his mind on the here and now as the ceremony of cake and gift was done. Yet when it was all over, he watched the faces that crowded around the handsome little boy. They all loved him so much. They all had come to celebrate his birth. All of them had given him a gift. None of the gifts - save the flute - were kept from him. Even the flute would not be taken from him permanently. Yet there would be a time and place for him to practice - Probably alone in his room.  
  
He remembered that he had never been given that opportunity. On the one birthday he remembered, he'd asked for something and been refused it. A present had been given to him that his mother refused to let him use - even though he'd gotten to use it without her knowledge anyway. On that one birthday, he had nearly died because he saw a horrible monster in a mirror, and had cut his hands and wrists badly when he smashed it in fear. He hadn't known at that moment that the monster in the mirror had been him.  
  
It had been the worst childhood memory of his life until the gypsy camp came along. Now, as the attention swirled around Gerard, even Isabelle seemed to halfway forget that her husband was at her side. He was left totally to his own thoughts and memories, and his eyes glazed over as he remembered that day. He'd never had a real birthday. He didn't even remember when it was. There was no birth certificate for him. Isabelle had, for some reason or other, never thought to ask him when his birthday was. No one had. Perhaps everyone thought he wished to keep it to himself. Still, realizing that no one - not even his beloved wife - had asked him anything more than his age, stung like a hundred bee stings.  
  
"Erik?"  
  
He looked up at Christine as her hand suddenly touched his arm. She smiled apologetically when she realized she had startled him.  
  
"Where were you just now?" She asked quietly. He shook his head.  
  
"Doesn't matter. I was just thinking."  
  
She didn't believe him for a moment, yet was not about to question him in front of all these other people who did not know his past. Shrugging, she turned back to Raoul, who was quite annoyingly trying to bring her attention solely back to him.  
  
A knock on the front door caught Erik's attention, and he gently removed Isabelle from his lap to lift her into his place. Kissing her cheek, he quickly made for the hallway to the door. He wasn't expecting anyone else to appear. Yet when he opened the door to fine Nadir standing there with a package under his own arm, he wasn't all too surprised. He had mentioned the birthday party to him a few days earlier.  
  
"Salaam." Nadir greeted, bowing his head in greeting. Erik quickly bowed formally in return.  
  
"Asr be kheir." He greeted quickly. "Come in, Nadir. We hadn't been expecting you. All of the cake is gone, and Gerard has already opened his presents."  
  
Nadir smiled brightly as he came in from the slight rain outside, and Erik closed the door behind him, quickly taking his cloak to hang it in the closet so it wouldn't drip everywhere.  
  
"I know I wasn't invite." He replied. "Forgive me. I just wish to give Gerard something." He hesitated after a long moment, his eyes lowering to the package he held. "That is . . . with your consent, Erik."  
  
"You think I would disapprove?"  
  
"Of the object, yes." Nadir admitted. Slowly, he handed Erik the box, and he opened it to find inside a fine little toy that he recognized immediately. A mechanical doll he'd once created for Nadir's son. A doll with a violin that played and bowed and entertained, and would only start playing again when someone clapped vigorously. It had nearly broken once when Nadir, angry at his sons' admiration of the creation, had tried to make it work without letting his son just clap away.  
  
"This isn't mine to object to." He said softly, looking up at Nadir, shaking just a little bit. He remembered the young boy he himself had killed with a bit of poison when the child was suffering unnecessarily from a fatal illness. A mercy killing, he had told himself at the time. Yet the child's death, and Nadir's following grief, and made him never again enter his friends dwelling in Persia. "Give it to him, please. I am sure he would love it. Yet be certain you want to part with it."  
  
"I would like to see another boy love it as much as my son did." Nadir said quietly, closing the box again. They both went into the kitchen together, getting a couple of strange looks from Raoul and Christine. Christine recognized him as Erik's friend, and so did Raoul. Yet Raoul couldn't make the connection as Christine did. The friend of the Phantom of the Opera, that betrayed his secrets in order to save a young opera star from his grasp.  
  
"Gerard, come here." Erik ordered quietly, and everyone became silent as the boy obeyed, reluctantly leaving the side of the lantern his mother had allowed him to keep lighted on the table. Nadir lowered himself to be at eye level with the child, taking his time as he worked up the nerve to give away the last toy his son had ever cherished.  
  
"I have something that Erik made many years ago." He said quietly. "He has always had many talents, and this is one of them. My son loved this toy . . . I want you to have it now."  
  
//////////////////////////-------------------------- ////////////////////////////////  
  
TRANSLATIONS!  
  
Er ist ein dummkopf - He is a fool  
  
Sein Kopf ist leer! Hübsches gesicht - leeres gehim ------ His head is empty! Pretty face - empty brain!  
  
Salaam - Hello  
  
Asr be kheir - Good afternoon 


	26. We're having a baby, my baby and me

A/N: Looks like I've run out of storyline - or nearly have at least. Well a couple more chapters wouldn't hurt I suppose. Even if there isn't that much going on.  
  
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Chapter 26:  
  
Madeline was flustered when she finally got Marguerite and Fleur into their winter coats, and began trying to make Gerard put on his boots hat and coat. The suitcases were out in the front hall, by the front door, and the carriage was waiting impatiently. The children didn't stop running around or complaining, or saying they'd forgotten something. It hadn't stopped all evening, since they had learned they were going to visit Isabelle's father overnight. Isabelle, who was staying behind, hurriedly took a pot of boiling potatoes from the stovetop, and moved to drain them into the sink.  
  
"Fleur, don't you dare touch it!" She scolded the twin, her own face flushed from the heat of the kitchen. "That pie is for Erik!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Isabelle." Madeline apologized quickly; standing and holding Gerard on one hip as she had Fleur and Marguerite go into the front hall and pick up the suitcases. "We should have been gone half an hour ago."  
  
"Tonight wouldn't have gone much differently if you'd left after Erik got home." Isabelle replied gently, rubbing her eyes briefly. "Go on, I have to mash these potatoes, and make sure the roast doesn't burn, and . . . oh no! Where are the matches?"  
  
"Right there." Marguerite came into the kitchen and pointed to the box of matches sitting on one of the dining set chairs. Madeline turned and shooed her out of the kitchen again quickly with a threatening wave of her hands, and then turned back to peer at Isabelle.  
  
"Good luck tonight!" She whispered, and then was down the hall.  
  
As Isabelle started to finish the potatoes, she heard the front door open, letting a welcome moment of cold air into the lower rooms of the house before it slammed so hard that she jumped into the air. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she continued at her work, knowing that she only had a few more minutes left before her husband got home. She still hadn't done her hair, or put her jewelry on, and God forbid she forget to take off the apron before he saw her all covered in flour!  
  
"I'm never going to get everything ready on time." She breathed.  
  
///////////////////----------//////////////////////////  
  
As fortune would have it, Erik himself was worried about getting out of rehearsals so late. The performance for that evening had been cancelled early that morning so that anyone who wished might attend an Easter Mass and festival being held at Notre Dame. Then, of course, calling a cab home after rehearsals felt impossible thanks to the cold. It seemed that his fingers and toes would freeze off after only three minutes of unsuccessful cabby calling. For such a time of year, it was still extremely cold out, far colder than it usually was. Paris had endured three blizzards in the past two weeks.  
  
When finally an open-air carriage - of all things in the middle of this cold - pulled up in front of him at the curb, he almost lost it thanks to a very rude couple that tried to get in before them. The language he'd used on them was enough to make the poor middle-aged woman faint into the arms of the man who seemed to be her husband. Yet Erik was beyond caring at that point. He simply wanted to get home.  
  
It had not been one of the most successful days of rehearsal, considering everyone wanted to talk about Christine's daughter, whom had been born the evening before. There was little room for rehearsal beyond all the gossip and excitement. If it was one thing Erik was not fond of, it was gossip; especially gossip about Christine. Yet he couldn't very well have told them off, for fear of ruining her reputation with more gossip about the valiant Erik that was probably her lover in secret. No, that would not do at all.  
  
"Driver, if you don't take me to the address I tell you in less than five minutes, I swear to God I will strangle you with my bare hands!"  
  
The cabby certainly didn't take well to the threat. Instead of going faster, as Erik wanted him, he seemed to take his time, sloshing his two- horse team casually through the snow. He still had sleigh bells on his wheels, and the racket was giving Erik one incredible headache. Several times, he'd had to stop himself from carrying out his promise on the poor driver, who was probably just as cold, tired, and fed up as he.  
  
"This the right address, Monsieur?" The cabby finally asked as he pulled the carriage up to the curb. Erik didn't answer, put tossed the necessary amount of money into the back of his head as hard as he could, and then leaped from the carriage, his dark blue cloak billowing behind him temporarily. Then, moving to the picket fence, he ripped the gate open, the hinges squealing terribly in complaint. With a wince, he slammed the gate shut again, and stalked up the steps into the house that had always melted his tensions away, no matter how terrible, within a matter of moments.  
  
Opening the door and stepping in, he didn't notice for a few seconds just how quiet it was in the house. His cloak was hung on the nearby peg, and he began removing his boots before he realized there weren't four pairs of arms around him all at once, eager for his attention. Lifting his head, he looked around in confusion.  
  
"Fleur? Marguerite? Gerard?" Standing from the stairs, where he had sat to take off his boots, he put the offensive cold and wet footwear over a grate by the front door, and then stepped into the parlor, finding it unusually empty. With a frown, he moved back out into the hall. Someone was here, that was for certain. The door was never left unlocked if everyone was out. "Madeline . . .? Isabelle . . .?"  
  
"I'm back here, sweetheart."  
  
"Finally!" He murmured, letting out a sigh of relief as his wife's voice reached him from the kitchen. He moved hastily in that direction, not even taking in the sights or smells around him as he pulled out the nearest chair and sat down heavily. "Answer me next time, Izzy! I thought something had happened!"  
  
"I'm sorry beloved." She replied softly, her voice coming from the corner on the other side of the table. "You sound so tense. Would you like me to pour you a brandy?"  
  
She had never offered him a brandy before. He had never even touched the brandy he kept in the liquor cabinet for guests like Nadir. Curious, he lifted his eyes to look across the table at her. It was then he realized that eight candles adorned the center of the table, four on each candelabrum that flanked a steaming roast surrounded by carrots and other such vegetables as they soaked in the pan of gravy and natural juices from the meat. The table was set for two, the settings across from each other at the head and foot of it. All sorts of trimmings were set around the roast to make a fine little supper.  
  
Empty wine glasses of crystal stood at attention next to each plate of fine china. Isabelle had taken out the silk napkins, and folded them underneath the expensive silver utensils. It was quite an extensive setting for such a meal. Having taken all of these things from her fathers' house, as all of the settings had belonged to her mother, they had never used it. There had never been occasion to.  
  
His eyes lifted further, and what he saw took his breath away. Not that she ever failed to do so in the plainest of clothing. Yet she looked precisely as she had when he first met her. The conservative blouse of crème colored lace that held snugly to her frame, with the somewhat high collar, and pearl buttons that adorned the front for decoration alone. The long sleeves that came down to her wrists, ending in tiny V's just on the back of her hand. The crimson vest that she wore over it, which then gave way into a billowing skirt of the same dark red silk. The shimmering gold lacing that went up the front of the vest, and then adorned the hem of her skirt was just as he remembered. Lifting his eyes to her face, he saw those amazing amethyst eyes staring over at him, rimmed by her thick dark eyelashes. Her hair was worn up in a large braid that formed a bun atop her head, and several smaller braids that were pinned in waves around her scalp.  
  
"It has been one of those days." He finally whispered, simply staring at her for a long moment. "I don't know if I need a brandy, though."  
  
Smiling, Isabelle slowly came around the table, reaching out to gently massage his shoulders. Leaning down over him, she kissed his cheek from behind, making him smile and immediately relax against her ministrations.  
  
"I'll get you one anyway." She whispered. Standing, she left the kitchen to find the brandy. "You may need it."  
  
"Why?" He called after her suspiciously. "What is all this, my dear? I admit it's a wonderful little surprise, but why?"  
  
"We missed our reservations last night." She came back into the room carrying the brandy decanter, and a tumbler. "When you went to see Christine in the hospital after the performance, we missed the reservations we had for a private dinner. I thought we could make up for it tonight. Madeline brought the children to my fathers' so that we could be alone. Besides . . . I have something to tell you and I wanted everything to be perfect."  
  
As she spoke, she poured some of the amber colored liquor into the tumbler, and handed it to him slowly. Erik sniffed at it before taking a cautious sip, and then put it aside, looking up at her. He then realized she was wearing a necklace and matching earrings of rubies that he'd given her for Christmas and New Years. Staring up at her, he watched as she crouched down to his eye level, and took his hands tightly.  
  
"What do you have to tell me?" He asked. She smiled, a hint of nervousness in her eyes.  
  
"Not yet." She whispered. "Just hold onto your brandy, all right? I . . . I would like the moment to be perfect."  
  
He stared at her in utter confusion. What on earth was she hiding from him? Yet he nodded, letting her take his tumbler and put it beside the tumbler on the counter that jutted out into the middle of the room, cutting the kitchen in half to make the cooking area and the dining areas separate. Then, she began to serve him as he sat forward in his seat. She put a bit of every single bit of the meal onto his plate, poured some fine burgundy wine into his crystal glass, and then sat down to serve herself. He had just taken the first bite of the moist and delicious roast when she cleared her throat.  
  
"Erik . . . would it please you if I were to have a baby?"  
  
The wine he'd been about to sip to wash down the fine meat almost spilled all over the table. Quickly putting down the crystal, he looked up at her. He licked his lips and cleared his throat, his eyes wide with shock. Was that what all this was about? Was Isabelle trying to tell him she was with child? Slowly standing, he came around the table to crouch in front of her, turning her chair so that she faced him more squarely. She looked down at him with that same nervous expression, uncertain joy shining behind her eyes.  
  
"Please me?" He breathed. "Mon Dieu . . . Isabelle . . . It is better than anything else in the world. Is it true?"  
  
"Vous serez un père." She whispered, seeming to relax. "Oui, it is true."  
  
"Isabelle!" Standing, he grabbed her by the waist, and hoisted her up from the chair. His arms slipped tightly about her, and he pulled her hard against him. She squealed in shock, not knowing what to say. For a second, she probably didn't even know what he was up to. She knew, however, when he gave her a searing kiss. It was something more passionate and joyful than anything they'd ever shared together. 


	27. The Lyre

Chapter 26: Rebirth  
  
Time passed quickly, as it often does in times of happiness and change. Each day, Isabelle grew more and more beautiful as the child of their love grew within her womb. Erik worshipped the very ground she walked on. Thoughts of Isabelle totally consumed him no matter where he was. If he was at the Opera House, performing opposite Christine (once her child was old enough to be left with a nurse), it was still nearly impossible to stop thinking about his wife, the mother of his child. Christine's presence and martial situations didn't sting him anymore. Not even a little. As the months passed, and it got closer to the day Isabelle was to give birth, Erik took shorter days at rehearsal, even though the rest of the cast paid dearly for their lack of tutelage.  
  
Madeline had changed in her life as well. A young man in the chorus that Erik had brought home for supper one evening so that Erik might help him with the music they were to perform had started to court her. He was a bit older than Erik, but was able to see that musically Erik was certainly his better. When the children met him, they immediately liked him, and he seemed to be quite infatuated with them just as much as he was with Madeline. Everyone wholeheartedly approved of their courtship.  
  
Marguerite, Fleur, and Gerard stayed very much the same. The only change to the twins was physical, as they seemed to begin maturing a bit early for their ages. They seemed to flower overnight, even though they still had their pre-pubescent demeanor. It seemed that in short time, they two would start looking at gentlemen in a much different way. Only Gerard stayed very much the same, except for perhaps an increase in his vocabulary.  
  
"Monsieur Gènie, may we please move onward to your aria, if you are ready?"  
  
"Certain, Monsieur Reyer." Erik said with a polite nod in the direction of the choral instructor.  
  
It was early in the beginnings of rehearsal for the new Opera they would be performing that season. He was to play the title role in "Rienzi", and it was only the third day of rehearsal. Only Erik was really expected to be able to perform his role well, considering how very well versed he was in music and Opera. As Monsieur Reyer began to play the introduction to the aria on the standing piano on stage, Erik smirked. He was trying to trick him again by not playing his part.  
  
"Almighty father, look down! Hear me, in the dust, pray to you! The strength that your authority gave to me, let it not yet perish! You strengthened me. You gave me great power. You lent me noble character; to make bright that which--"  
  
"Erik!"  
  
Turning, his eyes widened as Marguerite came running onto the stage, despite the effort of two strong looking stagehands to hold her back. Her face was flushed, and tears stood in her eyes. She was totally out of breath, and apparently she'd run all the way here in one of her best dresses. Dropping his copy of the score to the new opera carelessly, he hurried across the stage to her, taking the hands of the stagehands from her arms to pull her protectively into his. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms so that she could try and catch her breath, even though she'd gained plenty of weight in the past year or so.  
  
"Erik, mama sent me!" She gasped for air, her voice strained. "It's Izzy! She's having con . . . con . . ." She growled in frustration. "I can't remember the word!"  
  
"Calm down, Cherie." Erik soothed, touching her cheek lightly. Already his heart had tripled its speed within his chest, for he knew the word without her saying it. "Isabelle is having contractions. Is that what you're trying to say?"  
  
Breathless, she nodded. Usually Marguerite wouldn't forget a word so easily, yet it hadn't been used often around her. They had rarely ever spoken of the baby's birth. Now, with her mother having said the word to her only once to deliver this message, it was easy to forget it in such a panic. Standing, Erik lifted her into his arms. She might have been getting big, but it was amazing how light she still felt when he carried her around.  
  
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen." He told the cast members and crew around him. "It seems I am going to become a father today."  
  
Everyone began applauding as he strode with Marguerite from the stage, and out into the hallway.  
  
"Mama was calling a carriage to bring her to the hospital." The girl told him when they reached the warm outside air. It was summer now, and it hadn't rained in several weeks. "We need to go there, Erik."  
  
"No you don't, ma petite!"  
  
Erik turned as he attempted to hail a carriage. Christine had followed him from the stage, and they hadn't even realized it. She reached out to take Marguerite from him, and he allowed her to take the child.  
  
"You and I are going home. Are your sister and brother still there?"  
  
"Yes, Madame." Marguerite glanced at Erik uncertainly, wanting to go with him. Yet she knew better than to argue with them.  
  
"Go, Erik." Christine said quietly as a carriage finally pulled up to the sidewalk. "Give my best to Isabelle. I'll care for the children."  
  
"Thank you." Erik said, climbing in. "But I think it's best if you brought them to the hospital. Pick up the others and follow me there."  
  
///////////////////--------------------//////////////////////////////  
  
Isabelle was in the maternity ward, surrounded by nurses, her doctor, Erik, and Madeline, nearly an hour later. Yet it seemed all the attention wasn't necessary. She might have been having contractions, but the baby wasn't due to be born for several more hours. The doctor kept insisting that the little space where they were curtained off from the rest of the room be cleared. It was hard to get Erik to budge an inch away from her side, but she looked up at him insistently.  
  
"Erik, go to your performance tonight." She said, winded but otherwise all right. "You must. Please? I'll be all right. If we're lucky, our baby will be waiting to meet you when you get back."  
  
"Like Hell!" Erik exclaimed. "I'm not leaving you, Izzy."  
  
"Monsieur Gènie, it really is the best thing you can do right now. She needs space to breathe, and she needs to relax until its time. Please; just go to your rehearsal, and if we're any closer before the performance, we'll send for you, all right? If we aren't close enough, stay until after your performance."  
  
He frowned, but slowly leaned down to kiss his wife's forehead. If they were all against him, he would leave. Gently, he leaned down to whisper his love to her, and that he wanted to see proof of how strong and brave she could be when he returned. She nodded, promising to be at her strongest even if he wasn't there.  
  
"Je t'aime." He whispered before leaving.  
  
Out in the hallway, Christine stood as the children all looked up at him anxiously.  
  
"You three are coming back to the Opera with us." He told them softly. "You'll have to sit in my dressing room, since there is no one to watch you at home."  
  
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Madeline had picked the children up some time during the end of the last act of the performance. Erik came into his dressing room to find a note written in her familiar handwriting saying how she'd brought them home to bed. Then it went on to say that Isabelle had given birth to the baby at 10:48 that night. Erik glanced at the clock. It was 11:52. So his child was an hour and four minutes old! Yet the letter did not say the gender of the child, or how mother and baby were doing.  
  
He slowly moved into the maternity ward of the hospital and nearly twelve- thirty that night. He was remembering all of the times he'd come to see Isabelle while she was in her coma. The memories made him a bit nervous, but he forged onward.  
  
A homely looking nurse with rather buxom features came out of one of the curtained cells not far from him, and started. He'd been so quiet coming in no one had even heard the door close behind him. Erik nodded to her briefly, not apologizing for startling her.  
  
"I am looking for Madame Gènie." He said quietly, so as not to disturb the other resting mothers behind all of the closed curtains. "Which cell would se be in?"  
  
The nurse gave him a quiet, knowing smile.  
  
"Cell three." She replied quietly, reaching out to stop him when he began moving in that direction. "Would you like to meet your baby, Monsieur? Your wife is sleeping, and ought to have this time by herself to rest. The labor was fairly difficult for her."  
  
Slightly alarmed, Erik opened his mouth to ask whether or not she was all right. Yet the nurse quickly assured him that she was very much all right. The labor had simply zapped her of almost all her strength, and she needed to sleep in order to regain it all. Then, she led him out of the room harboring so many new and imminently expecting mothers. Across the hall was a wall of glass, which allowed viewers to look into the nursery, little cribs holding tiny infants of all shapes and sizes.  
  
Erik watched the nurse enter this room after she asked him to wait outside. He wondered which crib held his child. Which beautiful creation was a part of him and his beautiful Isabelle? Which infant was the miracle that had come from their love for one another?  
  
The baby that was finally brought outside to him was so small; he could scarcely believe she had not been born prematurely. Wrapped up in layers of cotton blankets, she couldn't have weighed more than seven pounds as he cradled her in his arms. She was half-asleep, with eyelids that were open just a crack. Already the baby had a mop of dark rust-colored hair, a combination of both mother and fathers' hair, which he found absolutely amazing. When he gave out a small gasp of sheer emotion, the baby's eyes opened immediately, staring up at him with a gaze that seemed far too sharp for her tender hours.  
  
"Madame named her Allyriane." The nurse told him, her voice reaching him from what seemed to be a vast distance. "She told me that she fell in love with you through music, and that the name of your daughter was to carry on that tradition."  
  
"It's a name from the word lyre . . . a medieval instrument." Erik explained to the nurse in a hushed whisper, not really knowing what else he might say. He was in a fog of awe and joy, which made his eyes blur with tears. Turning, he moved to sit down with the baby in his arms, who continued watching him with that keen gaze, and once more what appeared to be recognition.  
  
She was the most stunning thing he'd ever held; the most fragile creature on the entire planet. Something in his mind said that now Christine's daughter would have a playmate. Yet that thought was very far away, and he didn't even realize it had come and gone. He was too busy staring into her eyes, which were the palest blue he'd ever seen on an infant. Perhaps she would have amethyst eyes like her mother. Surely her eyes were too light to become his darker amber.  
  
"Do you know who I am, Allyriane?" he asked his baby softly, touching his pinkie to her lips, and watching as her mouth latched onto it instinctively. He smiled, almost gasping at the sensation. Her eyes half closed, yet she still watched him. "Oh, I think you do . . ."  
  
He wondered if his daughter would be more like her mother, or more like he. Would she have the same gifts that he'd been born with? Would she sing or play an instrument? Would she find other professions easy to tackle? Would she be sweet and relatively docile, like Isabelle; or would she be patient but somewhat hot tempered like her father? Erik smiled to think of the poor suitor who might see the wrath of the girl of his affections' should she have his disposition.  
  
"Let's go see mama," He whispered to her, and the child's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You know what I'm saying." He realized, still a bit awe- struck. Standing slowly, being careful not to jostle her, he carried her into the maternity ward, closely followed by the buxom nurse. He moved to cell three, pushed back the curtain, and then stepped inside. Closing the curtain behind him purposefully, he made it very clear that he wished privacy with his little family.  
  
Isabelle lay asleep on her hospital bed, looking somewhat pale, and yet flustered at the exact same time. The one thing he could see for certain was that she was quite exhausted. Still, she was stunningly beautiful to him. Nothing in the world could have made a more beautiful sight than what he now beheld; his wife and daughter so close to his side. 


End file.
